Front matter (continued 11)

The god of love, a! benedicite! How mighty and how greet a lord is he! For he can make of lowe hertes hye, And of hye lowe, and lyke for to dye, 5 And harde hertes he can maken free.

And he can make, within a litel stounde Of seke folk ful hole, fresshe and sounde, And of [the] hole, he can make seke; And he can binden and unbinden eke 10 What he wol have bounden or unbounde.

To telle his might my wit may not suffyse; For he may do al that he wol devyse. For he can make of wyse folk ful nyce, And [eke] in lyther folk distroyen vyce; 15 And proude hertes he can make agryse.

Shortly, al that ever he wol he may; Ageines him ther dar no wight sey nay. For he can gladde and greve whom him lyketh; And, who that he wol, he laugheth or he syketh; 20 And most his might he sheweth ever in May.

For every trewe gentil herte free That with him is, or thinketh for to be, Ageines May now shal have som steringe Other to joye, or elles to morninge, 25 In no sesoun so greet, as thinketh me.

For whan they mowe here the briddes singe, And see the floures and the leves springe, That bringeth into hertes rémembraunce A maner ese, medled with grevaunce, 30 And lusty thoughtes fulle of greet longinge.

And of that longing cometh hevinesse, And therof groweth ofte greet seknesse, And al for lak of that that they desyre; And thus in May ben hertes sette on fyre, 35 So that they brennen forth in greet distresse.

I speke this of feling, trewely; For, althogh I be old and unlusty, Yet have I felt of that seknesse, in May, Bothe hoot and cold, an acces every day, 40 How sore, y-wis, ther wot no wight but I.

I am so shaken with the fevers whyte, Of al this May yet slepte I but a lyte; And also it naught lyketh unto me, That any herte shulde slepy be 45 In whom that Love his fyry dart wol smyte.

But as I lay this other night wakinge, I thoghte how lovers had a tokeninge, And among hem it was a comune tale, That it were good to here the nightingale 50 Rather than the lewde cukkow singe.

And then I thoghte, anon as it was day, I wolde go som whider to assay If that I might a nightingalë here; For yet had I non herd of al this yere, 55 And hit was tho the thridde night of May.

And than, anon as I the day espyde, No lenger wolde I in my bedde abyde, But unto a wode, that was faste by, I wente forth alone, boldely, 60 And held my way doun by a broke-syde,

Til I com to a launde of whyte and grene; So fair oon had I never in[ne] been; The ground was grene, y-poudred with daisye, The floures and the gras y-lyke hye, 65 Al grene and whyte; was nothing elles sene.

Ther sat I doun among the faire floures; And saw the briddes trippe out of her boures Ther-as they had hem rested al the night. They were so joyful of the dayes light 70 That they †begonne of May to don hir houres!

They coude that servyce al by rote; Ther was many a lovely straunge note; Some songe loudë, as they hadde pleyned, And some in other maner vois y-feyned, 75 And some al out, with al the fulle throte.

They proyned hem, and made[n] hem right gay, And daunseden, and lepten on the spray, And evermore two and two in-fere; Right so as they had chosen hem to-yere 80 In Feverere, on seint Valentynes day.

And eke the river, that I sat upon, It made suche a noise, as it ron, Accordaunt with the briddes armonye, Me thoughte, it was the best[e] melodye 85 That mighte been y-herd of any mon.

And for delyt ther-of, I wot never how, I fel in suche a slomber and a swow, Not al a-slepe, ne fully wakinge; And in that swow me thoughte I herde singe 90 That sory brid, the lew[e]de cukkow.

And that was on a tree right fast[e] by; But who was than evel apayd but I? 'Now god,' quod I, 'that dyëd on the crois Yeve sorow on thee, and on thy lewde vois! 95 For litel joye have I now of thy cry.'

And as I with the cukkow thus gan chyde, I herde, in the nexte bush besyde, A Nightingalë so lustily singe That with her clere vois she made ringe 100 Through-out al the grene wode wyde.

'A! goode Nightingale!' quod I thenne, 'A litel hast thou been to longe henne; For here hath been the lew[e]de Cukkow, And songen songes rather than hast thou; 105 I pray to god that evel fyr him brenne!'

But now I wol you telle a wonder thing: As longë as I lay in that swowning, Me thoughte, I wiste what the briddes ment, And what they seyde, and what was her entent, 110 And of her speche I hadde good knowing.

And than herde I the Nightingale say, 'Now, gode Cukkow! go som-where away, And let us that can singen dwellen here; For every wight escheweth thee to here, 115 Thy songes be so elenge, in good fay!'

'What?' quod he, 'what may thee eylen now? It thinketh me, I singe as wel as thou, For my song is bothe trewe and playn; Al-though I can not crakel so in vayn 120 As thou dost in thy throte, I wot never how.

And every wight may understande me; But, Nightingale, so may they not do thee; For thou hast many a nyce queinte cry. I have herd thee seyn, "ocy! ocy!" 125 How mighte I knowe what that shulde be?'

'A fole!' quod she, 'wost thou not what it is? Whan that I say "ocy! ocy!" y-wis, Than mene I that I wolde, wonder fayn, That alle they were shamfully y-slayn 130 That menen aught ayeines love amis.

And also I wolde alle tho were dede That thenke not in love hir lyf to lede; For who that wol the god of love not serve, I dar wel say, is worthy for to sterve; 135 And for that skil "ocy! ocy!" I grede.'

'Ey!' quod the Cukkow, 'this is a queint lawe, That every wight shal love or be to-drawe! But I forsake al suchë companye. For myn entent is neither for to dye, 140 Ne, whyl I live, in loves yok to drawe.

For lovers ben the folk that been on-lyve That most disesë han, and most unthryve, And, most enduren sorow, wo, and care; And, at the laste, failen of welfare; 145 What nedeth hit ayeines trouth to stryve?'

'What?' quod she, 'thou art out of thy minde! How might thou in thy cherles herte finde To speke of loves servaunts in this wyse? For in this worlde is noon so good servyse 150 To every wight that gentil is of kinde.

For ther-of, trewly, cometh al goodnesse, Al honóur, and [eke] al gentilnesse, Worship, esë, and al hertes lust, Parfit joye, and ful assured trust, 155 Jolitee, plesauncë, and freshnesse,

Lowliheed, and trewe companye, Seemliheed, largesse, and curtesye, Drede of shame for to doon amis; For he that trewly Loves servaunt is 160 Were lother to be shamed than to dye.

And that this is sooth, al that I seye, In that beleve I wol bothe live and deye, And Cukkow, so rede I thou do, y-wis.' 'Ye, than,' quod he, 'god let me never have blis 165 If ever I to that counseyl obeye!

Nightingale, thou spekest wonder fayre, But, for al that, the sooth is the contrayre; For loving is, in yonge folk, but rage, And in olde folk hit is a greet dotage; 170 Who most hit useth, most he shal apeyre.

For therof comth disese and hevinesse, Sorowe and care, and mony a greet seknesse, Dispyt, debat, [and] anger, and envye, Repreef and shame, untrust and jelousye, 175 Pryde and mischeef, povértee, and woodnesse.

What! Loving is an office of dispayr, And oo thing is ther-in that is not fayr; For who that geteth of love a litel blis, But-if he be alway therwith, y-wis, 180 He may ful sone of age have his heyr.

And, Nightingale, therfor hold thee ny; For, leve me wel, for al thy queynte cry, If thou be fer or longe fro thy make, Thou shalt be as other that been forsake, 185 And than[ne] thou shalt hoten as do I!'

'Fy!' quod she, 'on thy namë and on thee! The god of love ne let thee never y-thee! For thou art wors a thousand-fold than wood. For many on is ful worthy and ful good, 190 That had be naught, ne hadde love y-be!

For Love his servaunts ever-more amendeth, And from al evel taches hem defendeth, And maketh hem to brenne right as fyr In trouthë and in worshipful desyr, 195 And, whom him liketh, joye y-nough hem sendeth.'

'Thou Nightingale,' he seyde, 'hold thee stille; For Love hath no resoun but his wille; For ofte sithe untrewe folk he eseth, And trewe folk so bitterly displeseth 200 That, for defaute of grace, he let hem spille.

With such a lorde wol I never be; For he is blind alwey, and may not see; And whom he hit he not, or whom he fayleth; And in his court ful selden trouthe avayleth; 205 Só dyvérs and so wilfúl is he.'

Than took I of the Nightingale kepe, She caste a sigh out of her herte depe, And seyde, 'Alas! that ever I was bore! I can, for tene, say not oon word more;' 210 And right with that she brast out for to wepe.

'Alas!' quod she, 'my herte wol to-breke To heren thus this false brid to speke Of love, and of his worshipful servyse; Now, god of love, thou help me in som wyse 215 That I may on this Cukkow been awreke!'

Me thoughte than, that I sterte up anon, And to the broke I ran, and gat a stoon, And at the Cukkow hertely I caste; And he, for drede, fley away ful faste; 220 And glad was I when that he was a-goon.

And evermore the Cukkow, as he fley, He seyde, 'Farewel! farewel, papinjay!' As though he hadde scorned, thoughte me; But ay I hunted him fro tree to tree 225 Til he was fer al out of sighte awey.

And thanne com the Nightingale to me, And seyde, 'Frend, forsothe I thanke thee That thou hast lyked me thus to rescowe; And oon avow to Love I wol avowe, 230 That al this May I wol thy singer be.'

I thanked her, and was right wel apayed; 'Ye,' quod she, 'and be thou not amayed, Though thou have herd the Cukkow er than me. For, if I live, it shal amended be 235 The nexte May, if I be not affrayed.

And oon thing I wol rede thee also; Ne leve thou not the Cukkow, loves fo; For al that he hath seyd is strong lesinge.' 'Nay,' quod I, 'therto shal no thing me bringe 240 Fro love; and yet he doth me mochel wo.'

'Ye, use thou,' quod she, 'this medicyne; Every day this May, or that thou dyne, Go loke upon the fresshe dayësyë. And though thou be for wo in poynt to dye, 245 That shal ful gretly lissen thee of thy pyne.

And loke alwey that thou be good and trewe, And I wol singe oon of my songes newe, For love of thee, as loude as I may crye;' And than[ne] she began this song ful hye— 250 'I shrewe al hem that been of love untrewe!'

And whan she hadde songe hit to the ende, 'Nów farewel,' quod she, 'for I mot wende; And god of love, that can right wel and may, As mochel joye sende thee this day 255 As ever yet he any lover sende!'

Thus took the Nightingale her leve of me. I pray to god, he alway with her be, And joye of love he sende her evermore; And shilde us fro the Cukkow and his lore; 260 For ther is noon so fals a brid as he.

Forth she fley, the gentil Nightingale, To al the briddes that were in that dale, And gat hem alle into a place in-fere, And †hem besoughte that they woldë here 265 Her disese; and thus began her tale:—

'Ye witen wel, it is not fro yow hid How the Cukkow and I faste have chid Ever sithen it was dayes light; I pray yow alle, that ye do me right 270 Of that foule, false, unkinde brid.'

Than spak oo brid for alle, by oon assent, 'This mater asketh good avysement; For we ben fewe briddes here in-fere. And sooth it is, the Cukkow is not here; 275 And therefor we wol have a parlement.

And therat shal the Egle be our lord, And other peres that ben of record, And the Cukkow shal be after sent. And ther shal be yeven the jugement, 280 Or elles we shal make som accord.

And this shal be, withouten any nay, The morow of seynt Valentynes day, Under a maple that is fayr and grene, Before the chambre-window of the quene 285 At Wodestok, upon the grene lay.'

She thanked hem, and than her leve took, And fley into an hawthorn by the brook, And ther she sat, and song upon that tree, 'Terme of [my] lyf, Love hath with-holde me,' 290 So loude, that I with that song awook.

Explicit Clanvowe.

O lewde book, with thy foole rudenesse, Sith thou hast neither beautee n'eloquence, Who hath thee caused, or yeve thee hardinesse For to appere in my ladyes presence? 5 I am ful siker, thou knowest her benivolence Ful ágreable to alle hir obeyinge; For of al goode she is the best livinge.

Allas! that thou ne haddest worthinesse To shewe to her som plesaunt sentence, 10 Sith that she hath, thorough her gentilesse, Accepted thee servant to her digne reverence! O, me repenteth that I n'had science And leyser als, to make thee more florisshinge; For of al goode she is the best livinge.

15 Beseche her mekely, with al lowlinesse, Though I be fer from her [as] in absence, To thenke on my trouth to her and stedfastnesse, And to abregge of my sorwe the violence, Which caused is wherof knoweth your sapience; 20 She lyke among to notifye me her lykinge; For of al goode she is the best livinge.

Lenvoy.

Aurore of gladnesse, and day of lustinesse, Lucerne a-night, with hevenly influence Illumined, rote of beautee and goodnesse, 25 Suspiries which I effunde in silence, Of grace I beseche, alegge let your wrytinge, Now of al goode sith ye be best livinge.

Explicit.

When that Phebus his chaire of gold so hy Had whirled up the sterry sky aloft, And in the Bole was entred certainly; Whan shoures swete of rain discended †soft, 5 Causing the ground, felë tymes and oft, Up for to give many an hoolsom air, And every plain was [eek y-]clothed fair

With newe grene, and maketh smalë floures To springen here and there in feld and mede; 10 So very good and hoolsom be the shoures That it reneweth, that was old and deede In winter-tyme; and out of every seede Springeth the herbë, so that every wight Of this sesoun wexeth [ful] glad and light.

15 And I, só glad of the seson swete, Was happed thus upon a certain night; As I lay in my bed, sleep ful unmete Was unto me; but, why that I ne might Rest, I ne wist; for there nas erthly wight, 20 As I suppose, had more hertës ese Than I, for I n'ad siknesse nor disese.

Wherfore I mervail gretly of my-selve, That I so long withouten sleepë lay; And up I roos, three houres after twelve, 25 About the [very] springing of the day, And on I put my gere and myn array; And to a plesaunt grovë I gan passe, Long or the brightë sonne uprisen was,

In which were okës grete, streight as a lyne, 30 Under the which the gras, so fresh of hew, Was newly spronge; and an eight foot or nyne Every tree wel fro his felawe grew, With braunches brode, laden with leves new, That sprongen out ayein the sonnë shene, 35 Som very rede, and som a glad light grene;

Which, as me thought, was right a plesaunt sight. And eek the briddes song[ës] for to here Would have rejoised any erthly wight. And I, that couth not yet, in no manere, 40 Here the nightingale of al the yere, Ful busily herkned, with herte and ere, If I her voice perceive coud any-where.

And at the last, a path of litel brede I found, that gretly had not used be, 45 For it forgrowen was with gras and weede, That wel unneth a wight [ther] might it see. Thought I, this path som whider goth, pardè, And so I folowèd, til it me brought To right a plesaunt herber, wel y-wrought,

50 That benched was, and [al] with turves new Freshly turved, wherof the grenë gras So small, so thik, so short, so fresh of hew, That most lyk to grene †wol, wot I, it was. The hegge also, that yede [as] in compas 55 And closed in al the grene herbere, With sicamour was set and eglantere,

Writhen in-fere so wel and cunningly That every braunch and leef grew by mesure, Plain as a bord, of on height, by and by, 60 [That] I sy never thing, I you ensure, So wel [y-]don; for he that took the cure It [for] to make, I trow, did al his peyn To make it passe al tho that men have seyn.

And shapen was this herber, roof and al, 65 As [is] a prety parlour, and also The hegge as thik as [is] a castle-wal, That, who that list without to stond or go, Though he wold al-day pryen to and fro, He shuld not see if there were any wight 70 Within or no; but oon within wel might

Perceive al tho that yeden there-without In the feld, that was on every syde Covered with corn and gras, that, out of dout, Though oon wold seeken al the world wyde, 75 So rich a feld [ne] coud not be espyed [Up]on no cost, as of the quantitee, For of al good thing ther was [greet] plentee.

And I, that al this plesaunt sight [than] sy, Thought sodainly I felt so sweet an air 80 [Come] of the eglantere, that certainly, Ther is no hert, I deme, in such despair, Ne with [no] thoughtës froward and contrair So overlaid, but it shuld soone have bote, If it had onës felt this savour sote.

85 And as I stood and cast asyde myn y, I was ware of the fairest medle-tree That ever yet in al my lyf I sy, As full of blossomës as it might be. Therin a goldfinch leping pretily 90 Fro bough to bough, and, as him list, he eet Here and there, of buddes and floures sweet.

And to the herber-sydë was joining This fairë tree, of which I have you told; And, at the last, the brid began to sing, 95 Whan he had eten what he etë wold, So passing sweetly, that, by manifold, It was more plesaunt than I coud devyse; And whan his song was ended in this wyse,

The nightingale with so mery a note 100 Answéred him, that al the wodë rong So sodainly, that, as it were a sot, I stood astonied; so was I with the song Through ravishèd, that, [un]til late and long Ne wist I in what place I was, ne where; 105 And †ay, me thought, she song even by myn ere.

Wherfore about I waited busily On every syde, if I her mightë see; And, at the last, I gan ful wel aspy Wher she sat in a fresh green laurer-tree 110 On the further syde, even right by me, That gave so passing a delicious smel According to the eglantere ful wel.

Wherof I had so inly greet plesyr That, as me thought, I surely ravished was 115 Into Paradyse, where my desyr Was for to be, and no ferther [to] passe As for that day, and on the sotë gras I sat me doun; for, as for myn entent, The birdës song was more convenient,

120 And more plesaunt to me, by many fold, Than mete or drink, or any other thing; Thereto the herber was so fresh and cold, The hoolsom savours eek so comforting That, as I demed, sith the beginning 125 Of the world, was never seen, or than, So plesaunt a ground of non erthly man.

And as I sat, the briddës herkning thus, Me thought that I herd voices sodainly, The most sweetest and most delicious 130 That ever any wight, I trow trewly, Herde in †his lyf, for [that] the armony And sweet accord was in so good musyk, Thát the voice to angels most was lyk.

The Leaf. At the last, out of a grove even by, 135 That was right goodly and plesaunt to sight, I sy where there cam singing lustily A world of ladies; but to tell aright Their greet beautè, it lyth not in my might, Ne their array; nevertheless, I shal 140 Tell you a part, though I speke not of al.

†In surcotes whyte, of veluet wel sitting, They were [y-]clad; and the semes echoon, As it were a maner garnishing, Was set with emeraudës, oon and oon, 145 By and by; but many a richë stoon Was set [up-]on the purfils, out of dout, Of colors, sleves, and trainës round about;

As gret[e] perlës, round and orient, Diamondës fyne and rubies rede, 150 And many another stoon, of which I †want The namës now; and everich on her hede A richë fret of gold, which, without drede, Was ful of statly richë stonës set; And every lady had a chapëlet

155 On her hede, of [leves] fresh and grene, So wel [y-]wrought, and so mervéilously, Thát it was a noble sight to sene; Some of laurer, and some ful plesauntly Had chapëlets of woodbind, and sadly 160 Some of agnus-castus ware also Chápëlets fresh; but there were many tho

That daunced and eek song ful soberly; But al they yede in maner of compas. But oon ther yede in-mid the company 165 Sole by her-self; but al folowed the pace [Which] that she kept, whos hevenly-figured face So plesaunt was, and her wel-shape persòn, That of beautè she past hem everichon.

And more richly beseen, by manifold, 170 She was also, in every maner thing; On her heed, ful plesaunt to behold, A crowne of gold, rich for any king; A braunch of agnus-castus eek bering In her hand; and, to my sight, trewly, 175 She lady was of [al] the company.

And she began a roundel lustily, That Sus le foyl de vert moy men call, Seen, et mon joly cuer endormi; And than the company answéred all 180 With voice[s] swete entuned and so small, That me thought it the sweetest melody That ever I herdë in my lyf, soothly.

And thus they came[n], dauncing and singing, Into the middes of the mede echone, 185 Before the herber, where I was sitting, And, god wot, me thought I was wel bigon; For than I might avyse hem, on by on, Who fairest was, who coud best dance or sing, Or who most womanly was in al thing.

190 They had not daunced but a litel throw When that I herd, not fer of, sodainly So greet a noise of thundring trumpës blow, As though it shuld have départed the sky; And, after that, within a whyle I sy 195 From the same grove, where the ladyes come out, Of men of armës coming such a rout

As al the men on erth had been assembled In that place, wel horsed for the nones, Stering so fast, that al the erth[ë] trembled; 200 But for to speke of riches and [of] stones, And men and hors, I trow, the largë wones Of Prester John, ne al his tresory Might not unneth have bought the tenth party!

Of their array who-so list herë more, 205 I shal reherse, so as I can, a lyte. Out of the grove, that I spak of before, I sy come first, al in their clokes whyte, A company, that ware, for their delyt, Chapëlets fresh of okës cereal 210 Newly spronge, and trumpets they were al.

On every trumpe hanging a brood banere Of fyn tartarium, were ful richly bete; Every trumpet his lordës armës †bere; About their nekkës, with gret perlës set, 215 Colers brode; for cost they would not lete, As it would seme; for their scochones echoon Were set about with many a precious stoon.

Their hors-harneys was al whyte also; And after hem next, in on company, 220 Cámë kingës of armës, and no mo, In clokës of whyte cloth of gold, richly; Chapelets of greene on their hedes on hy, The crownës that they on their scochones bere Were set with perlë, ruby, and saphere,

225 And eek gret diamondës many on; But al their hors-harneys and other gere Was in a sute àccording, everichon, As ye have herd the foresayd trumpets were; And, by seeming, they were nothing to lere; 230 And their gyding they did so manerly. And after hem cam a greet company

Of heraudës and pursevauntës eke Arrayed in clothës of whyt veluët; And hardily, they were nothing to seke 235 How they [up]on hem shuld the harneys set; And every man had on a chapëlet; Scóchones and eke hors-harneys, indede, They had in sute of hem that before hem yede.

Next after hem, came in armour bright, 240 Al save their hedes, seemely knightës nyne; And every clasp and nail, as to my sight, Of their harneys, were of red gold fyne; With cloth of gold, and furred with ermyne Were the trappurës of their stedës strong, 245 Wyde and large, that to the ground did hong;

And every bosse of brydel and peitrel That they had, was worth, as I would wene, A thousand pound; and on their hedës, wel Dressed, were crownës [al] of laurer grene, 250 The best [y-]mad that ever I had seen; And every knight had after him ryding Three henshmen, [up]on him awaiting;

Of whiche †the first, upon a short tronchoun, His lordës helme[t] bar, so richly dight, 255 That the worst was worth[y] the raunsoun Of a[ny] king; the second a sheld bright Bar at his nekke; the thridde bar upright A mighty spere, ful sharpe [y-]ground and kene; And every child ware, of leves grene,

260 A fresh chapelet upon his heres bright; And clokes whyte, of fyn veluet they ware; Their stedës trapped and [a]rayed right Without[en] difference, as their lordës were. And after hem, on many a fresh co[u]rsere, 265 There came of armed knightës such a rout That they besprad the largë feld about.

And al they ware[n], after their degrees, Chapëlets new, made of laurer grene, Some of oke, and some of other trees; 270 Some in their handës berë boughës shene, Some of laurer, and some of okës kene, Some of hawthorn, and some of woodbind, And many mo, which I had not in mind.

And so they came, their hors freshly stering 275 With bloody sownës of hir trompës loud; Ther sy I many an uncouth disgysing In the array of these knightës proud; And at the last, as evenly as they coud, They took their places in-middes of the mede, 280 And every knight turned his horse[s] hede

To his felawe, and lightly laid a spere In the [a]rest, and so justës began On every part about[en], here and there; Som brak his spere, som drew down hors and man; 285 About the feld astray the stedës ran; And, to behold their rule and governaunce, I you ensure, it was a greet plesaunce.

And so the justës last an houre and more; But tho that crowned were in laurer grene 290 Wan the pryse; their dintës were so sore That ther was non ayenst hem might sustene; And [than] the justing al was left of clene; And fro their hors the †nine alight anon; And so did al the remnant everichon.

295 And forth they yede togider, twain and twain, That to behold, it was a worldly sight, Toward the ladies on the grenë plain, That song and daunced, as I sayd now right. The ladies, as soone as they goodly might, 300 They breke[n] of both the song and dance, And yede to mete hem, with ful glad semblance.

And every lady took, ful womanly, Bý the hond a knight, and forth they yede Unto a fair laurer that stood fast by, 305 With levës lade, the boughës of gret brede; And to my dome, there never was, indede, [A] man that had seen half so fair a tree; For underneth it there might wel have be

An hundred persons, at their own plesaunce, 310 Shadowed fro the hete of Phebus bright So that they shuld have felt no [greet] grevaunce Of rain, ne hail, that hem hurt[ë] might. The savour eek rejoice would any wight That had be sick or melancolious, 315 It was so very good and vertuous.

And with gret reverence they †enclyned low [Un]to the tree, so sote and fair of hew; And after that, within a litel throw, †Bigonne they to sing and daunce of-new; 320 Some song of love, some playning of untrew, Environing the tree that stood upright; And ever yede a lady and a knight.

The Flower. And at the last I cast myn eye asyde, And was ware of a lusty company 325 That came, roming out of the feld wyde, Hond in hond, a knight and a lady; The ladies alle in surcotes, that richly Purfyled were with many a riche stoon; And every knight of greene ware mantles on,

330 Embrouded wel, so as the surcotes were, And everich had a chapelet on her hede; Which did right wel upon the shyning here, Made of goodly floures, whyte and rede. The knightës eke, that they in hond lede, 335 In sute of hem, ware chapelets everichon; And hem before went minstrels many on,

As harpës, pypës, lutës, and sautry, Al in greene; and on their hedës bare Of dyvers flourës, mad ful craftily, 340 Al in a sute, goodly chapelets they ware; And so, dauncing, into the mede they fare, In-mid the which they found a tuft that was Al oversprad with flourës in compas.

Where[un]to they enclyned everichon 345 With greet reverence, and that ful humblely; And, at the last[ë], there began anon A lady for to sing right womanly A bargaret in praising the daisy; For, as me thought, among her notës swete, 350 She sayd, 'Si doucë est la Margarete.'

Thén they al answéred her infere, So passingly wel, and so plesauntly, Thát it was a blisful noise to here. But I not [how], it happed sodainly, 355 As, about noon, the sonne so fervently Wex hoot, that [al] the prety tender floures Had lost the beautè of hir fresh coloures,

For-shronk with hete; the ladies eek to-brent, That they ne wist where they hem might bestow. 360 The knightës swelt, for lak of shade ny shent; And after that, within a litel throw, The wind began so sturdily to blow, That down goth al the flourës everichon So that in al the mede there laft not on,

365 Save suche as socoured were, among the leves, Fro every storme, that might hem assail, Growing under hegges and thikke greves; And after that, there came a storm of hail And rain in-fere, so that, withouten fail, 370 The ladies ne the knightës n'ade o threed Drye [up]on hem, so dropping was hir weed.

And when the storm was clene passed away, Tho [clad] in whyte, that stood under the tree, They felt[ë] nothing of the grete affray, 375 That they in greene without had in y-be. To hem they yedë for routh and pitè, Hem to comfort after their greet disese; So fain they were the helpless for to ese.

Then was I ware how oon of hem in grene 380 Had on a crown[ë], rich and wel sitting; Wherfore I demed wel she was a quene, And tho in greene on her were awaiting. The ladies then in whyte that were coming Toward[ës] hem, and the knightës in-fere 385 Began to comfort hem and make hem chere.

The quene in whyte, that was of grete beautè, Took by the hond the queen that was in grene, And said, 'Suster, I have right greet pitè Of your annoy, and of the troublous tene 390 Wherein ye and your company have been So long, alas! and, if that it you plese To go with me, I shal do you the ese

In al the pleisir that I can or may.' Wherof the tother, humbly as she might, 395 Thanked her; for in right ill aray She was, with storm and hete, I you behight. And every lady then, anon-right, That were in whyte, oon of hem took in grene By the hond; which when the knightes had seen,

400 In lyke wyse, ech of hem took a knight Clad in grene, and forth with hem they fare [Un]to an heggë, where they, anon-right, To make their justës, [lo!] they would not spare Boughës to hew down, and eek treës square, 405 Wherewith they made hem stately fyres grete To dry their clothës that were wringing wete.

And after that, of herbës that there grew, They made, for blisters of the sonne brenning, Very good and hoolsom ointments new, 410 Where that they yede, the sick fast anointing; And after that, they yede about gadring Plesaunt saladës, which they made hem ete, For to refresh their greet unkindly hete.

The lady of the Leef then gan to pray 415 Her of the Flour, (for so to my seeming They should[ë] be, as by their [quaint] array), To soupe with her; and eek, for any thing, That she should with her al her people bring. And she ayein, in right goodly manere, 420 Thanketh her of her most freendly chere,

Saying plainly, that she would obey With al her hert al her commaundëment, And then anon, without lenger delay, The lady of the Leef hath oon y-sent 425 For a palfray, [as] after her intent, Arayed wel and fair in harneys of gold, For nothing lakked, that to him long shold.

And after that, to al her company She made to purvey hors and every thing 430 That they needed; and then, ful lustily, Even by the herber where I was sitting, They passed al, so plesantly singing, That it would have comfórted any wight; But then I sy a passing wonder sight:—

435 For then the nightingale, that al the day Had in the laurer sete, and did her might The hool servyse to sing longing to May, Al sodainly [be]gan to take her flight; And to the lady of the Leef forthright 440 She flew, and set her on her hond softly, Which was a thing I marveled of gretly.

The goldfinch eek, that fro the medle-tree Was fled, for hete, into the bushes cold, Unto the lady of the Flour gan flee, 445 And on her hond he set him, as he wold, And plesantly his wingës gan to fold; And for to sing they pained hem both as sore As they had do of al the day before.

And so these ladies rood forth a gret pace, 450 And al the rout of knightës eek in-fere; And I, that had seen al this wonder case, Thought [that] I would assay, in some manere, To know fully the trouth of this matere, And what they were that rood so plesantly. 455 And, when they were the herber passed by,

I drest me forth, and happed to mete anon Right a fair lady, I you ensure; And she cam ryding by herself aloon, Al in whyte, with semblance ful demure. 460 I salued her, and bad good aventure †Might her befall, as I coud most humbly; And she answered, 'My doughter, gramercy!'

'Madam,' quod I, 'if that I durst enquere Of you, I wold fain, of that company, 465 Wit what they be that past by this herbere?' And she ayein answéred right freendly: 'My fair daughter, al tho that passed hereby In whyte clothing, be servants everichoon Unto the Leef, and I my-self am oon.

470 See ye not her that crowned is,' quod she, 'Al in whyte?' 'Madamë,' quod I, 'yis!' 'That is Diane, goddesse of chastitè; And, for bicause that she a maiden is, In her hond the braunch she bereth, this 475 That agnus-castus men call properly; And alle the ladies in her company

Which ye see of that herb[ë] chaplets were, Be such as han kept †ay hir maidenhede; And al they that of laurer chaplets bere 480 Be such as hardy were and †wan, indede, Victorious name which never may be dede. And al they were so worthy of hir hond, [As] in hir tyme, that non might hem withstond.

And tho that werë chapelets on hir hede 485 Of fresh woodbind, be such as never were To love untrew in word, [ne] thought, ne dede, But ay stedfast; ne for plesaunce, ne fere, Though that they shuld hir hertës al to-tere, Would never flit, but ever were stedfast, 490 Til that their lyves there asunder brast.'

'Now, fair madam,' quod I, 'yet I would pray Your ladiship, if that it might be, That I might know[ë], by some maner way, Sith that it hath [y-]lyked your beautè, 495 The trouth of these ladies for to tel me; What that these knightës be, in rich armour; And what tho be in grene, and were the flour;

And why that some did reverence to the tree, And some unto the plot of flourës fair?' 500 'With right good wil, my fair doughter,' quod she, 'Sith your desyr is good and debonair. Tho nine, crownèd, be very exemplair Of all honour longing to chivalry, And those, certain, be called the Nine Worthy,

505 Which ye may see [here] ryding al before, That in hir tyme did many a noble dede, And, for their worthines, ful oft have bore The crowne of laurer-leves on their hede, As ye may in your old[ë] bokes rede; 510 And how that he, that was a conquerour, Had by laurer alway his most honour.

And tho that bere boughës in their hond Of the precious laurer so notáble, Be such as were, I wol ye understond, 515 Noble knightës of the Round[ë] Table, And eek the Douseperes honourable; Which they bere in signe of victory, †As witness of their dedes mightily.

Eek there be knightës olde of the Garter, 520 That in hir tyme did right worthily; And the honour they did to the laurer Is, for by [it] they have their laud hoolly, Their triumph eek, and martial glory; Which unto hem is more parfyt richesse 525 Than any wight imagine can or gesse.

For oon leef given of that noble tree To any wight that hath don worthily, And it be doon so as it ought to be, Is more honour then any thing erthly. 530 Witnesse of Rome that founder was, truly, Of all knighthood and dedës marvelous; Record I take of Titus Livius.

And as for her that crowned is in greene, It is Flora, of these flourës goddesse; 535 And al that here on her awaiting been, It are such [folk] that loved idlenes, And not delyte [had] of no busines But for to hunt and hauke, and pley in medes, And many other such [lyk] idle dedes.

540 And for the greet delyt and [the] plesaunce They have [un]to the flour, so reverently They unto it do such [gret] obeisaunce, As ye may see.' 'Now, fair madame,' quod I, 'If I durst ask what is the cause and why 545 That knightës have the signe of [al] honour Rather by the Leef than by the Flour?'

'Sothly, doughter,' quod she, 'this is the trouth: For knightës ever should be persévering, To seeke honour without feintyse or slouth, 550 Fro wele to better, in al maner thing; In signe of which, with Levës ay lasting They be rewarded after their degree, Whos lusty grene may not appeired be,

But ay keping hir beautè fresh and greene; 555 For there nis storm [non] that may hem deface, Hail nor snow, wind nor frostës kene; Wherfore they have this propertè and grace. And for the Flour within a litel space Wol be [y-]lost, so simple of nature 560 They be, that they no grevance may endure,

And every storm wil blow hem sone away, Ne they last not but [as] for a sesoun, That †is the cause, the very trouth to say, That they may not, by no way of resoun, 565 Be put to no such occupacioun.' 'Madame,' quod I, 'with al my hool servyse I thank you now, in my most humble wyse.

For now I am acértainèd throughly Of every thing I désired to know.' 570 'I am right glad that I have said, sothly, Ought to your pleysir, if ye wil me trow,' Quod she ayein, 'but to whom do ye ow Your servyce? and which wil ye honour, Tel me, I pray, this yeer, the Leef or Flour?'

575 'Madame,' quod I, 'though I [be] leest worthy, Unto the Leef I ow myn observaunce.' 'That is,' quod she, 'right wel don, certainly, And I pray god to honour you avaunce, And kepe you fro the wikked rémembraunce 580 Of Male-Bouche, and al his crueltè; And alle that good and wel-condicioned be.

For here may I no lenger now abyde, I must folowe the gret[ë] company That ye may see yonder before you ryde.' 585 And forth[right], as I couth, most humblely, I took my leve of her as she gan hy After hem, as fast as ever she might; And I drow hoomward, for it was nigh night;

And put al that I had seen in wryting, 590 Under support of hem that lust it rede. O litel book, thou art so unconning, How darst thou put thy-self in prees for drede? It is wonder that thou wexest not rede, Sith that thou wost ful lyte who shal behold 595 Thy rude langage, ful boistously unfold.

Explicit.

In Septembre, at the falling of the leef, The fressh sesoun was al-togider doon, And of the corn was gadered in the sheef; In a gardyn, about twayn after noon, 5 Ther were ladyes walking, as was her wone, Foure in nombre, as to my mynd doth falle, And I the fifte, the simplest of hem alle.

Of gentilwomen fayre ther were also, Disporting hem, everiche after her gyse, 10 In crosse-aleys walking, by two and two, And some alone, after her fantasyes. Thus occupyed we were in dyvers wyse; And yet, in trouthe, we were not al alone; Ther were knightës and squyers many one.

15 'Wherof I served?' oon of hem asked me; I sayde ayein, as it fel in my thought, 'To walke about the mase, in certayntè, As a woman that [of] nothing rought.' He asked me ayein—'whom that I sought, 20 And of my colour why I was so pale?' 'Forsothe,' quod I, 'and therby lyth a tale.'

'That must me wite,' quod he, 'and that anon; Tel on, let see, and make no tarying.' 'Abyd,' quod I, 'ye been a hasty oon, 25 I let you wite it is no litel thing. But, for bicause ye have a greet longing In your desyr, this proces for to here, I shal you tel the playn of this matere.—

It happed thus, that, in an after-noon, 30 My felawship and I, by oon assent, Whan al our other besinesse was doon, To passe our tyme, into this mase we went, And toke our wayes, eche after our entent; Some went inward, and †wend they had gon out, 35 Some stode amid, and loked al about.

And, sooth to say, some were ful fer behind, And right anon as ferforth as the best; Other ther were, so mased in her mind, Al wayes were good for hem, bothe eest and west. 40 Thus went they forth, and had but litel rest; And some, her corage did hem sore assayle, For very wrath, they did step over the rayle!

And as they sought hem-self thus to and fro, I gat myself a litel avauntage; 45 Al for-weried, I might no further go, Though I had won right greet, for my viage. So com I forth into a strait passage, Which brought me to an herber fair and grene, Mad with benches, ful craftily and clene,

50 That, as me thought, ther might no crëature Devyse a better, by dew proporcioun; Safe it was closed wel, I you ensure, With masonry of compas enviroun, Ful secretly, with stayres going doun 55 Inmiddes the place, with turning wheel, certayn; And upon that, a pot of marjolain;

With margarettes growing in ordinaunce, To shewe hemself, as folk went to and fro, That to beholde it was a greet plesaunce, 60 And how they were acompanyed with mo Ne-m'oublie-mies and sovenez also; The povre pensees were not disloged there; No, no! god wot, her place was every-where!

The flore beneth was paved faire and smothe 65 With stones square, of many dyvers hew, So wel joynëd that, for to say the sothe, Al semed oon (who that non other knew); And underneth, the stremës new and new, As silver bright, springing in suche a wyse 70 That, whence it cam, ye coude it not devyse.

A litel whyle thus was I al alone, Beholding wel this délectable place; My felawship were coming everichone, So must me nedes abyde, as for a space. 75 Rememb[e]ring of many dyvers cace Of tyme passed, musing with sighes depe, I set me doun, and ther I fel a-slepe.

And, as I slept, me thought ther com to me A gentilwoman, metely of stature; 80 Of greet worship she semed for to be, Atyred wel, not high, but by mesure; Her countenaunce ful sad and ful demure; Her colours blewe, al that she had upon; Ther com no mo [there] but herself aloon.

85 Her gown was wel embrouded, certainly, With sovenez, after her own devyse; On her purfyl her word [was] by and by Bien et loyalment, as I coud devyse. Than prayde I her, in every maner wyse 90 That of her name I might have remembraunce; She sayd, she called was Perséveraunce.

So furthermore to speke than was I bold, Where she dwelled, I prayed her for to say; And she again ful curteysly me told, 95 "My dwelling is, and hath ben many a day With a lady."—"What lady, I you pray?" "Of greet estate, thus warne I you," quod she; "What cal ye her?"—"Her name is Loyaltè."

"In what offyce stand ye, or in what degrè?" 100 Quod I to her, "that wolde I wit right fayn." "I am," quod she, "unworthy though I be, Of her chambre her ussher, in certayn; This rod I bere, as for a token playn, Lyke as ye know the rule in such servyce 105 Pertayning is unto the same offyce.

She charged me, by her commaundëment, To warn you and your felawes everichon, That ye shuld come there as she is present, For a counsayl, which shal be now anon, 110 Or seven dayës be comen and gon. And furthermore, she bad that I shuld say Excuse there might be non, nor [no] delay.

Another thing was nigh forget behind Whiche in no wyse I wolde but ye it knew; 115 Remembre wel, and bere it in your mind, Al your felawes and ye must come in blew, Every liche able your maters for to sew; With more, which I pray you thinke upon, Your wordës on your slevës everichon.

120 And be not ye abasshed in no wyse, As many been in suche an high presence; Mak your request as ye can best devyse, And she gladly wol yeve you audience. There is no greef, ne no maner offence, 125 Wherin ye fele that your herte is displesed, But with her help right sone ye shul be esed."

"I am right glad," quod I, "ye tel me this, But there is non of us that knoweth the way." "As of your way," quod she, "ye shul not mis, 130 Ye shul have oon to gyde you, day by day, Of my felawes (I can no better say) Suche oon as shal tel you the way ful right; And Diligence this gentilwoman hight.

A woman of right famous governaunce, 135 And wel cherisshed, I tel you in certayn; Her felawship shal do you greet plesaunce. Her port is suche, her maners trewe and playn; She with glad chere wol do her besy payn To bring you there; now farwel, I have don." 140 "Abyde," sayd I, "ye may not go so sone."

"Why so?" quod she, "and I have fer to go To yeve warning in many dyvers place To your felawes, and so to other mo; And wel ye wot, I have but litel space." 145 "Now yet," quod I, "ye must tel me this cace, If we shal any man unto us cal?" "Not oon," quod she, "may come among you al."

"Not oon," quod I, "ey! benedicite! What have they don? I pray you tel me that!" 150 "Now, by my lyf, I trow but wel," quod she; "But ever I can bileve there is somwhat, And, for to say you trouth, more can I nat; In questiouns I may nothing be large, I medle no further than is my charge."

155 "Than thus," quod I, "do me to understand, What place is there this lady is dwelling?" "Forsothe," quod she, "and oon sought al this land, Fairer is noon, though it were for a king Devysed wel, and that in every thing. 160 The toures hy ful plesaunt shul ye find, With fanes fressh, turning with every wind.

The chambres and parlours both of oo sort, With bay-windowes, goodly as may be thought, As for daunsing and other wyse disport; 165 The galeryes right wonder wel y-wrought, That I wel wot, if ye were thider brought, And took good hede therof in every wyse, Ye wold it thinke a very paradyse."

"What hight this place?" quod I; "now say me that." 170 "Plesaunt Regard," quod she, "to tel you playn." "Of verray trouth," quod I, "and, wot ye what, It may right wel be called so, certayn; But furthermore, this wold I wit ful fayn, What shulde I do as sone as I come there, 175 And after whom that I may best enquere?"

"A gentilwoman, a porter at the yate There shal ye find; her name is Countenaunce; If †it so hap ye come erly or late, Of her were good to have som acquaintaunce. 180 She can tel how ye shal you best avaunce, And how to come to her ladyes presence; To her wordës I rede you yeve credence.

Now it is tyme that I depart you fro; For, in good sooth, I have gret businesse." 185 "I wot right wel," quod I, "that it is so; And I thank you of your gret gentilnesse. Your comfort hath yeven me suche hardinesse That now I shal be bold, withouten fayl, To do after your ávyse and counsayl."

190 Thus parted she, and I lefte al aloon; With that I saw, as I beheld asyde, A woman come, a verray goodly oon; And forth withal, as I had her aspyed, Me thought anon, [that] it shuld be the gyde; 195 And of her name anon I did enquere. Ful womanly she yave me this answere.

"I am," quod she, "a simple crëature Sent from the court; my name is Diligence. As sone as I might come, I you ensure, 200 I taried not, after I had licence; And now that I am come to your presence, Look, what servyce that I can do or may, Commaundë me; I can no further say."

I thanked her, and prayed her to come nere, 205 Because I wold see how she were arayed; Her gown was blew, dressed in good manere With her devyse, her word also, that sayd Tant que je puis; and I was wel apayd; For than wist I, withouten any more, 210 It was ful trew, that I had herd before.

"Though we took now before a litel space, It were ful good," quod she, "as I coud gesse." "How fer," quod I, "have we unto that place?" "A dayes journey," quod she, "but litel lesse; 215 Wherfore I redë that we onward dresse; For, I suppose, our felawship is past, And for nothing I wold that we were last."

Than parted we, at springing of the day, And forth we wente [a] soft and esy pace, 220 Til, at the last, we were on our journey So fer onward, that we might see the place. "Now let us rest," quod I, "a litel space, And say we, as devoutly as we can, A pater-noster for saint Julian."

225 "With al my herte, I assent with good wil; Much better shul we spede, whan we have don." Than taried we, and sayd it every del. And whan the day was fer gon after noon, We saw a place, and thider cam we sone, 230 Which rounde about was closed with a wal, Seming to me ful lyke an hospital.

Ther found I oon, had brought al myn aray, A gentilwoman of myn aquaintaunce. "I have mervayl," quod I, "what maner way 235 Ye had knowlege of al this ordenaunce." "Yis, yis," quod she, "I herd Perséveraunce, How she warned your felawes everichon, And what aray that ye shulde have upon."

"Now, for my love," quod I, "this I you pray, 240 Sith ye have take upon you al the payn, That ye wold helpe me on with myn aray; For wit ye wel, I wold be gon ful fayn." "Al this prayer nedeth not, certayn;" Quod she agayn; "com of, and hy you sone, 245 And ye shal see how wel it shal be doon."

"But this I dout me greetly, wot ye what, That my felawes ben passed by and gon." "I warant you," quod she, "that ar they nat; For here they shul assemble everichon. 250 Notwithstanding, I counsail you anon; Mak you redy, and tary ye no more, It is no harm, though ye be there afore."

So than I dressed me in myn aray, And asked her, whether it were wel or no? 255 "It is right wel," quod she, "unto my pay; Ye nede not care to what place ever ye go." And whyl that she and I debated so, Cam Diligence, and saw me al in blew: "Sister," quod she, "right wel brouk ye your new!"

260 Than went we forth, and met at aventure A yong woman, an officer seming: "What is your name," quod I, "good crëature?" "Discrecioun," quod she, "without lesing." "And where," quod I, "is your most abyding?" 265 "I have," quod she, "this office of purchace, Cheef purveyour, that longeth to this place."

"Fair love," quod I, "in al your ordenaunce, What is her name that is the herbegere?" "For sothe," quod she, "her name is Acquaintaunce, 270 A woman of right gracious manere." Than thus quod I, "What straungers have ye here?" "But few," quod she, "of high degree ne low; Ye be the first, as ferforth as I know."

Thus with talës we cam streight to the yate; 275 This yong woman departed was and gon; Cam Diligence, and knokked fast therat; "Who is without?" quod Countenaunce anon. "Trewly," quod I, "fair sister, here is oon!" "Which oon?" quod she, and therwithal she lough; 280 "I, Diligence! ye know me wel ynough."

Than opened she the yate, and in we go; With wordës fair she sayd ful gentilly, "Ye are welcome, ywis! are ye no mo?" "Nat oon," quod she, "save this woman and I." 285 "Now than," quod she, "I pray yow hertely, Tak my chambre, as for a whyl, to rest Til your felawës come, I holde it best."

I thanked her, and forth we gon echon Til her chambre, without[en] wordës mo. 290 Cam Diligence, and took her leve anon; "Wher-ever you list," quod I, "now may ye go; And I thank you right hertely also Of your labour, for which god do you meed; I can no more, but Jesu be your speed!"

295 Than Countenauncë asked me anon, "Your felawship, where ben they now?" quod she. "For sothe," quod I, "they be coming echon; But in certayn, I know nat wher they be, Without I may hem at this window see. 300 Here wil I stande, awaytinge ever among, For, wel I wot, they wil nat now be long."

Thus as I stood musing ful busily, I thought to take good hede of her aray, Her gown was blew, this wot I verely, 305 Of good fasoun, and furred wel with gray; Upon her sleve her word (this is no nay), Which sayd thus, as my pennë can endyte, A moi que je voy, writen with lettres whyte.

Than forth withal she cam streight unto me, 310 "Your word," quod she, "fayn wold I that I knew." "Forsothe," quod I, "ye shal wel knowe and see, And for my word, I have non; this is trew. It is ynough that my clothing be blew, As here-before I had commaundëment; 315 And so to do I am right wel content.

But tel me this, I pray you hertely, The steward here, say me, what is her name?" "She hight Largesse, I say you suërly; A fair lady, and of right noble fame. 320 Whan ye her see, ye wil report the same. And under her, to bid you welcome al, There is Belchere, the marshal of the hall.

Now al this whyle that ye here tary stil, Your own maters ye may wel have in mind. 325 But tel me this, have ye brought any bil?" "Ye, ye," quod I, "or els I were behind. Where is there oon, tel me, that I may find To whom that I may shewe my matters playn?" "Surely," quod she, "unto the chamberlayn."

330 "The chamberlayn?" quod I, "[now] say ye trew?" "Ye, verely," sayd she, "by myne advyse; Be nat aferd; unto her lowly sew." "It shal be don," quod I, "as ye devyse; But ye must knowe her name in any wyse?" 335 "Trewly," quod she, "to tell you in substaunce, Without fayning, her name is Remembraunce.

The secretary yit may not be forget; For she may do right moche in every thing. Wherfore I rede, whan ye have with her met, 340 Your mater hool tel her, without fayning; Ye shal her finde ful good and ful loving." "Tel me her name," quod I, "of gentilnesse." "By my good sooth," quod she, "Avysënesse."

"That name," quod I, "for her is passing good; 345 For every bil and cedule she must see; Now good," quod I, "com, stand there-as I stood; My felawes be coming; yonder they be." "Is it [a] jape, or say ye sooth?" quod she. "In jape? nay, nay; I say you for certain; 350 See how they come togider, twain and twain!"

"Ye say ful sooth," quod she, "that is no nay; I see coming a goodly company." "They been such folk," quod I, "I dar wel say, That list to love; thinke it ful verily. 355 And, for my love, I pray you faithfully, At any tyme, whan they upon you cal, That ye wol be good frend unto hem al."

"Of my frendship," quod she, "they shal nat mis, And for their ese, to put therto my payn." 360 "God yelde it you!" quod I; "but tel me this, How shal we know who is the chamberlayn?" "That shal ye wel know by her word, certayn." "What is her word? Sister, I pray you say." "Plus ne purroy; thus wryteth she alway."

365 Thus as we stood togider, she and I, Even at the yate my felawes were echon. So met I hem, as me thought was goodly, And bad hem welcome al, by on and on. Than forth cam [lady] Countenaunce anon; 370 "Ful hertely, fair sisters al," quod she, "Ye be right welcome into this countree.

I counsail you to take a litel rest In my chambre, if it be your plesaunce. Whan ye be there, me thinketh for the best 375 That I go in, and cal Perséveraunce, Because she is oon of your aquaintaunce; And she also wil tel you every thing How ye shal be ruled of your coming."

My felawes al and I, by oon avyse, 380 Were wel agreed to do lyke as she sayd. Than we began to dresse us in our gyse, That folk shuld see we were nat unpurvayd; And good wageours among us there we layd, Which of us was atyred goodliest, 385 And of us al which shuld be praysed best.

The porter cam, and brought Perséveraunce; She welcomed us in ful curteys manere: "Think ye nat long," quod she, "your attendaunce; I wil go speke unto the herbergere, 390 That she may purvey for your logging here. Than wil I go unto the chamberlayn To speke for you, and come anon agayn."

And whan [that] she departed was and gon, We saw folkës coming without the wal, 395 So greet people, that nombre coud we non; Ladyes they were and gentilwomen al, Clothed in blew, echon her word withal; But for to knowe her word or her devyse, They cam so thikke, that I might in no wyse.

400 With that anon cam in Perséveraunce, And where I stood, she cam streight [un]to me. "Ye been," quod she, "of myne olde acquaintaunce; You to enquere, the bolder wolde I be; What word they bere, eche after her degree, 405 I pray you, tel it me in secret wyse; And I shal kepe it close, on warantyse."