20 There wyfte no wyghte in Christentè He loved her more then feven yere, Yet was he of her love never the nere. He was not ryche of golde and fe, To no man durft he make his mone, And evermore, whan he was wo, Into his chambre would he goo; And through the chambre he toke the waye, And in the garden, as i wene, Was an arber fayre and grene, And in the arber was a tre, A fayrer in the world might none be; The fyrst tre that Jefu chefe; The fother-wood, and fykamoure, The reed rofe, and the lyly-floure, The boxe, the beche, and the larel-tre, The date, also the damyfè, The fylbyrdes hangyng to the ground, The fygge-tre, and the maple round, And other trees there was mané ane, The pyany, the popler, and the plane, The lavorocke, and the nightyngale, The pee, and the popinjaye, The thruftele fange both nyght and daye, The fterlynge fet her notes full trewe, 40. 50 And many other foules mo, The ofyll, and the thrufshe also ; 60 And they fange wyth notes clere, And evermore, whan he was wo, In to that arber wolde he go, And under a bente he layde hym lowe, As was fyr Lybius that gentell knyght, As fyr Gawayne, or fyr Guy! Or els fo doughty of my hande As was the gyaunte fyr Colbrande! What man shoulde wynne that lady fre, The kinges doughter of Hungry. 70 80 But ever he fayde, Wayleawaye! For poverte pafseth all my paye! And, as he made thys rufull chere, And wyd the windowes the open fet, The funne fhone in at her closet, In that arber fayre and gaye She fawe where that fquyre lay. The lady fayd to hym anone, Syr, why makeft thou that mone? And whi thou mourneft night and day? And, as i am a true lady, 90 100 Thy counfayl fhall i never dyfcry; 110 And, yf it be no reprefe to thee, And ye therwith not well apayde, Ye might have bewraied me to the kinge, Therfore, my lady, fayre and fre, I durft not fhewe my harte to thee; Whether ye wyll me fave or spyll; For all the care i have in be A worde of you might comfort me; And, yf ye wyll not do so, Out of this land i must nedes go; 120 130 |