That who fo might fo well yfare
For bettir life durft him not care,
For there n'is fo gode paradife
As to have a love at his devife.
Out of that place went I tho,
And in that gardin gan I go,
Flaying along full merily.

The god of Love full haftily
Unto him Swete Loking yclept;
No lengir would he that the kept
His bowe of gold that fhone so bright:
He haddin him bent anon right,
And he full fonè fet an ende,
And at a braide he gan it bende,
And toke him of his arowes five
Ful sharpe and redy for to drive.
Now God that fitteth in majeste
Fro dedly woundis he kepe me
If fo be that he had me fhete,
For if I with his arowe mete
It had me grevid fore i-wis;
But I, that nothing wift of this,
Went up and doune ful many' a waje,
And he me folowed fast alwaie;
But no where would I reftè me
Til' I had in all the gardin be.

The gardin was by mefuring

Right even' and fquare in compaffing;
It as longe was as it was large;
Of fruite had every tre his charge
But it were any hidous tre,
Of whiche there werin two or thre.
There were (and that wote I full wele)
Of pomgranetts a full grete dele,
That is a frute ful wel to like,
Namely to folke whan thei ben fike;
And trees there werin grete foifon
That berin nuttes in ther fefon,
Suche as menne Nutemiggis ycall,
That fote of favour ben withall,
And of almandris grete plente,
Figgis, and many a date tre,
There werin, if that menne had nede,
Through the gardin in length and brede.
There was eke wexing many' a spice,
As clowe, gilofre, and licorice,
Gingiber, and grein de Paris,
Canell, and fetewale of pris,
And many' a spice delitable
To etin whan men rise fro table.

And many homely trees there were
That peches, coines, and apples, bere,
Medlers, plommis, peris, chefteinis,
Cherife, of whiche many one faine is,
Notis, and aleis, and bolas,
That for to fene it was folas,
With many high laurer and pine,
Was rengid clene all that gardine
With cipris, and with oliveris,
Of which that nigh no plenty here is.
Ther werin elmis grete and strong,
Maplis, afhe, oke, afpe, planis long,

Fine ewe, popler, and lindis faire,
And othir trees full many' a paire.
What should I tell you more of it?
There werin fo many trees yet
That I fhould al encombrid be
Er I had rekenid every tre.

These trees were fet, that I devise,
One from an othir in affife
Five fadome or fixe, I trowe fo;
But they were hie and gret also,
And for to kepe out wel the funne
The croppis were so thicke ironne,
And every braunche in othir knitte,
And ful of grenè levis fitte,
That funne might there none difcende
Left that the tendir graffis fhende.
There might men does and roes ife,
And of fquirels ful grete plente
From bow to bow alwaie leping;
Connis there were alfo playing,
That comin out of ther clapers,
Of fondry colours and mañers,
And madin many' a tourneying
Upon the freshè graffe fpringing.

In placis fawe I wellis there
In whichè there no froggis were,
And faire in fhadowe was eche wel;
But I ne can the nombre tel

Of ftremis fmal that by devise
Mirth had done come thorough condife,
Of whiche the watir in renning
Gan makin a noife ful liking.

About the brinkis of these wellis,
And by the ftremes ovir al ellis,
Sprange up the graffe, as thicke ifet
And foft eke as any velvet,

On which men might his lemmen lay,
As on a fethirbed to pley,

For the erth was ful fofte and fwete ;
Thorough the moisture of the wel wete
Sprong up the fotê grenè gras
As faire, as thicke, as mifter was;
But moche amended it the place
That the erth was of fuche a grace
That it of flouris hath plente
That both in fomre'a nd wintir be.

There sprange the violet al newe,
And freshe pervinke riche of hewe,
And flouris yelowe, white, and rede;
Suche plente grewe there ner in mede:
Ful gaie was al the grounde and queint,
And poudrid as men had it peint,
With many' a freshe and fondry floure,
That caftin up ful gode favour.

I wol not longe hold you in fable
Of al this gardin dilectable;
I mote my tongè stinten nede,
For I ne maie withoutin drede
Naught tellin you the beutie all,
Ne halfe the bounte, there withall.

I went on right honde and on lefte
About the place; it was not lefte
Till I had all the gardin bene
In the eftris that men might fene.

And thus while I went in my playe
The god of Love me folowed aye,
Right as an hunter can abide
The befte till he feith his tide
To fhote at godeneffe to the dere,
Whan that him nedith go no nere.
And fo befil I reftid me

Befides a wel undir a tre,

Whiche tre in Fraunce men cal a Pine,
But fince the time of King Pepine
Ne grewe there tre in mann'is fight
So faire, ne fo wel woxe in hight;
In all that yarde fo high was none;
And fpringing in a marble stone
Had nature fet, the fothe to tell,
Under that pinè tre a well,
And on the bordir al without
Was written in the ftone about
Letteris fmal, that faidin thus,
Here whilome starfe faire Narciffus.
Narciffus was a bachilere

That Love had caught in his daungere,
And in his nette gan him fo ftraine,
And did him fo to wepe and plaine,
That nede him muft his life forgo
For a fair lady hight Echo
Him loved over any creture,
And gan for him fuche paine endure;
That on a timè fhe him tolde
That if he her ne lovin wolde
That her behovid nedis die
There laie none othir remedie.

But nathèleffe for his beaute
So feirs and dangerous was he,
That he n'olde graantin her afking
For weping ne for faire praying.

And when the herde him werne her fo
She had in hert so grete wo,
And toke it in fo grete difpite,
That the withoutin more refpite
Was dede anon; but ere fhe diede
Ful piteously to God the preide
That the proude hertid Narciffus,
That was in love fo daungerous,
Might on a day ben hampered fo
For love, and bene fo hote for wo,
That ner he might to joie attaine,
Than fhould he fele in every vaine
What forow true loveris maken
That ben villainoufly forsaken.

This prayir was but refonable,

Therfore God helde it ferme and stable,
For Narciffus, shortly to tell,
By aventure came to that well
To reft him in the shadowing
O day when he came from hunting.
This Narciffus had fuffrid paines,
For renning all day in the plaines,
And was for thurft in greate diftreffe
Of herte, and of his werineffe,
That had his brethe almoft benomen.
Whan he was to that welcomen,

That shadowed was with braunchis gréne,
He thought of thilke watir fhene
To drinke, and freshe him wele withall,
And doune on knees he gan to fall,
And forth his necke and hed outstraught,
To drinkin of that well a draught;
And in the watre' anone was fene
His nofe, his mouthe, his eyin, fhene,
And he therof was all abafhed,
His owne fhadowe had him betrashed,
For wel wende he the forme to fe
Of a childe of full grete beaute :
Full well couth Love him wreke tho

Of daungir and of pride alfo
That Narciffus fomtime him bere;
He quite him well his guerdon there,
For he mufid fo in the well
That fhortily, the fathe to tell,
He lovid his owne fhadowe fo
That at the last he starfe for wos
For whan he fawe that he his will
Might in no manir way fulfill,
And that he was fo faftè caught
That he him couthè comfort naught,
He loft his witte right in that place,
And deide within a litill space;
And thus his warifon he toke
For the lady that he forfoke.

Ladies, I praie enfample taketh,
Ye that ayenft your love mistaketh;
If of ther deth you be to wite
Good can ful wel your wilè quite.

Whan this letter, of whiche I tell,
Had taught me that it was the well
Of Narciffus in his beaute,

I gan anon withdrawè me
When it fell in my remembrance
That him betide fuche a nifchaunce
But at the lafte than thoughtin
That featheleffe full fickirly
I might unto the wellè go,
Wherof thull I abafhin fo?
Unto the welle than went I me,
And doune I loutid for to fe

The clerè watir in the ftone,
And eke the gravel, whiche that shone
Doune in th' botom as filvir fine,
For of the welle this is the fine,
In world is none fo clere of hewe,
The watre is ever fresh and newe,
That welmith up with wavis bright
The mountenaunce of two fingir highty
About it is the graffe fpringing
For moifte fo thicke and weil liking
That it ne may in wintir die
No more than may the fee be drie.

Doune at the botome fet fawe P
Two criftal ftonis craftily,
In thilke frefhe and faire well;
But o thinge fothly dare I tell
That ye woll holde a grete mervaile
Whan it is tolde withoutin failey

For whan the funnè clere in fight
Caft in that welle his bemis bright,
And that the hete defcendid is,
Than taketh the cristall stone i-wis
Againe the funne an hundrid hewis,
Blewe, yelow, red, that fresh and new is,
Yet hath the mervailous cristall

Suche ftrength that the place ovir all,
Both foule and tre, and levis grene,
And all the yerde, in it is fene :
And for to don you to' undirstonde
To make enfample wol I fonde ;
Right as a mirreur opinly

shewith al thing that ftondeth thereby,
As well the colour as figure,
Withoutin any covirture,
Right fo the criftall stone shining,
Withoutin any difceving,

The entrees of the yerde accufeth
To him that in the watir mufeth,
For evir in whiche halfe ye be
Ye may wele halfe the gardine fe,
And if ye turne ye may right wele
Sene the rem naunt every dele,
For there is none fo litil thing
So hid ne clofin with fhiting
That it n'is fene, as though it were
Ypainted in the cristall there.
This is the mirrour perillus
In whiche the proude Narciffus
Say al his faire face fo bright
That made him fith to lie upright,
For who fo loke in that mirrour
There may nothing ben his focour
That he ne fhal there fe fomthing
That fhal him lede into laughing:
Ful many' a worthy man hath it
Yolent, for folke of gretift wit
Ben fone y caught here and ywaited;
Withouten refpite beu they baited:
Here comith to folke of newe rage,
Here chaungith many wight corage,
Here lithe no rede ne witte therto,
For Venus fonne, Dan Cupido,
Hath fowin there of love the fede,
That helpe ne lithe there non ne rede,
So cerclith it the welle about;

Hi ginnis hath he fet without,
Right for to catche in his pantera
Thefe damofels and bachilers;
Love will none othir birdis, catche
Though he fet cithir nette or latche;
And for the fede that here was fowen
This welle is cleped, as well is knowen,
The Welle of Love of very right,
Df whiche there heth ful many wight
rokin in bokis diversely;
But thei fhul ner fo verily
kripcion of the welle here,
Ne cke the fothe of this matere,
As ye hul whan I have undo

crafte that here belongith to.

Alway me likid for to dwell
To fene the christall in the well,
That fhewid me ful opinly
A thousande thingis faste by;
But I may faie in fory houre
Stode I to lokin or to poure,
For fithin I fore have ylikid

That mirrour hath me now entriked;
But had I first knowen in my wit
The vertu and strengthis of it,

I n'olde not have mufid there;
Me had bettir ben ellis-where,
For in the fnare I fell anone
That had bitrefhid many one.

In thilkè mirrour fawe I tho,
Among a thousande thingis mo,
A rofir chargid ful of rofis,

That with an hedge aboute enclosed is;
Tho had I fuche luft and envie,

That for Paris ne for Pavie
N'olde I have left to gone and fe
There gretift hepe of rofis be.
Whan I was with this rage yhente,
That caught hath many' a man and fhente,
Towarde the rofir gan I go,

And whan I was not ferre there fro

The favour of the rofis fote

Me fmote right to the hertè rote,

As I had all enbaumid me;
And if I n'ad endoutid me
To have ben hatid or affailed
My thankis wol I not have failed
To pull a Rofe of al that route
To berin in mine honde aboute,
And smellin to it where I went;
But er 1 dredde me to repent,
And lefte it grevid or forthought
The lorde that thilke gardin wrought.
Of rofis there werin grete wone,
So faire werin nevir in Rone;
Of knoppis clofe fome fawe I there,
And fome wel bettir woxin were,
And fome there ben of othir moifon,
That drowe nigh to ther fefon,
And fpedde 'hem fafte for to fpredde;
I love wel fuche rofis redde,
For brode rofis and open' alfo
Ben paflid in a daie or two,
But knoppis wallin freshè be
Two daies at left or ellis thre:
The knoppis gretely likid me,
For fairir maie there no man fe;
Who fo might havin one of all
It ought him ben ful lefe withall:
Might I garlonde of 'hem getten
For no richeffe I wolde it letten.

Amonges the knoppis I chefe one
So faire, that of the remenaunt none
Ne preife I halfe fo wel as it
Whan I avifin in my wit;

It fo wel was enluminid
With colour red, as well finid

As Nature couth it makin faire,
And it hath levis wel foure paire,
That Kind hath fet through his knowing;
Aboute the redde rofis fpringing
The ftalke ywas as rishè right,
And theron ftode the knoppe upright,
That it ne bowed upon no fide;
The fotè fmell yfprong fo wide
That it died al the place aboute :
Whan I had fmelled the favour fote
No will had I fro thence yet go,
But fomdele nere it went I tho
To take it, but mine honde for drede
Ne durft I to the Rofè bede

For thifteles fharpe of many maners,
Netlis, thornis, and hokid briers,
For muche they diftourblid me,
For fore I dradde to harmid be.

The god of Love, with bowe ybent,
That al daie fet had his talent
To purfue and to spyin me,
Was ftondin by a figge tre,
And whan he fawè how that I
Had chofin fo ententifely

The bothum more unto my pay
Than any othir that I fay,

He toke an arowe fharpely whette,
And in his bowe when it was sette
He ftreight up to his ere ydrough
The ftrongè bowe that was fo tough,
And fhotte at me fo wondir fmerte
That through mine eye unto mine herte
The takil fmote, and depe it wente,
And therwith al fuch colde me hente
That undir clothis warme and fofte
Sin that day I have chivered ofte.

Whan I was hurte thus in stounde
I fell doune plat unto the grounde,
Mine herte failid and faintid aie,
And longé time in fwoune I laie;
But whan I came out of fwouning,
And hadde my witte and my feling,
I was all mate, and wende full wele
Of blode t' have lorne a full grete dele,
But certes th' arowe that in me ftode
Of me ne drewe no droppe of blode;
For why? I founde my woundes all drie.
Than toke I with nine hondis twee
The 'arowe, and full faft it out plight,
And in the pulling fore I fight;
So at the laft the fhaft of tre

I drough out with the fethirs thre,
But yet the hokid hedde i-wis,
The whiche Beaute ycallid is,
Gan fo depe in mine hertè pace
That I it ne might not arace,
But in mine hertè ftill it stode,
All bledde I not a droppe of blode :
I was bothe anguifhous and trouble
For the perill that I fawe double;
I ne wift what to faie or doe,

Ne get a leche my woundis to,

For neither thorough graffe ne rote
Ne had I helpe of hope ne bote,
But to the bothum evir mo
Mine herte drewe, for all my wo

My thought was in none othir thing,
For had it ben in my keping
It would have brought my life again,
For certis evenly, I dare fain,
The fight onely and the favour
Aleggid moche of my languor.

Than gan I for to drawè me
Toward the bothum faire to fe,
And Love had gette him in this throwe
An othir arowe into' his bowe,
And for to fhotin gan him dresse;
The arowes name was Simpleneffe :
And whan that Love gan nigh me nere
He drowe it up withoutin were,
And fhote at me with all his might,
So that this arowe anone right

Throughout mine eigh, as it was founde,
Into mine herte hath made a wounde:
Than I anone did all my craft

For to ydrawin out the shaft,
And therewithall I fighid eft;
But in mine hert the hedde was left,
Whiche aie enerefid my defire;
Unto the bothum drewe I nere,
And evirmo that me was wo
The more defire had I to go

Unto the rofir, where that grewe

The freshe bothom fo bright of hewe:
Bettir me were to' have lettin be,
But it behovid nedis me

To doen right as mine hertè badde,
For er the body must be ladde
Aftir the herte in wele and wo,
Of force togithir thei must go;
But nevir this archir would fine
To fhote at me with all his pine,
And for to make me to him mete.

The thirde arowe he gan to fhete,
Whan beft his time he might espie,
The whiche was namid Curtifie,
Into mine herte he did avale :

A fwoune I fell bothe dedde and pale
Long time I laie, and ftirid nought
Till I abraied out of my thought,
And fafte than I avifid me
To drawin out the shaft of tre;
But aye the hedde was lefte behinde
For ought I couthè pull or winde;
So fore it fticked whan I was hit
That by no crafte I might it flit,
But anguifhous and full of thought

I felt foche wo my wounde aie wrought,
That fomoned me alwaie to go
Toward the Rofe that plefed me fo;
But I ne durft in no manere,
Because the archir was so nere.

For evirmore gladly', as I rede,

Brent child of fire hath mochil drede :
And certis yet for all my pein
Though that I figh, yet arowis rein,

And ground quarelis, sharpe of stele,
Ne for no pain that I might fele,
Yet might I not my felf with hold
The faire rofir to behold,

For Love me yave soche hardiment
For to fulfill his commaundement';
Upon my fete I rose up than
Feble as a forwounded man,

And forthe to gon my might I fet,
And for the archir n'olde I let :
'Toward the rofir faft I drowe,
But thornis fharpe mo than inow
There were, and alfo thifteles thicke,
And breris brimmè for to pricke,
That I ne might ygettin grace
Through the rough thornis for to pace
To fene the rofis frefhe of hewe;
I must abide though it me rewe:
The hedge about fo thicke was,
That clofed the rofis in compas.

But o thing likid me right wele,
I was fo nigh that I might fele
Of the bothom the fote odour,
And also se the freshe coloure,
And that right gretely likid me
That I fo nere mightin it fe;
Soche joie anon thereof had I
That I forgate my malady;
To fene it I had foche delite
Of woe and angre' I was all quite,
And of my woundes that I had thore,
For nothing likin me might more
Than dwelliti by the rofir aie,
And thens nevir to paffe awaie :
But whan a while I had be thare
The god of Love, whiche all to share
Mine herte with his arowis kene,
Cateth him to yeve me woundis grene;
He fhote at me full haftily
An arowe namid Companie,
The whichè takil is full able
To make these ladies merciable;
Than I anon gan chaungin hewe
For grevaunce of my woundè newe,
That I again fell in fwouning,
And fighid fore in complaining.

Sore I complained that my fore
On me gan grevin more and more;
I had none hope of allegiance,
So nigh I drowe to difperaunce;
I ne nought of deth ne of life,
Whethir that Love ywould me drife ;
If me a martir wold he make
I might his powir not forfake:
And while for angir thus I woke
The god of Love and arowe toke
Full sharp it was and full poinaunt,
And it was callid Faire Semblaunt,
The whiche in no wife would confent
That any lover him repent

To ferve his love with herte and all
For any perill that maie fall:

But though this arowe was kene grounde
As any rafor that is founde

VOL. I.

To cutte and kervin at the point,
The god of Love it had anoint
With a full precious ointment,
Some dele to yeve elegement
Upon the woundis that he hade
Thorough the eye in my herte made,
To helpe her foris and to cure,
And that thei maie the bette indure;
But yet this arowe without more
Made in mine herte a large fore,
That in full grete pain I abode,
But aie the ointment went abrode;
Throughout my woundis large and wide
It fprede about in every fide,
Thorough whofe vertue and whose might
Mine hertè joifull was and light;

I had ben dedde and all to fhent

But for the precious ointment.
The shaft I drowe out of the arowe,
Roking for wo right wondir narowe,
But the hedde, whiche that made me fmerte,

I left behindè in mine herte

With othir fower, I dare well faie,
That nevir woll be toke awaie;
But the ointment halpè me wele,
And yet foche forowe did I fele,
That alle daie I chaungid hewe
Of my woundis so freshe and newe,
As men might fe in my visage:
The arowes were fo full of rage,
So variaunt of diverfite,

That men in evèriche might fe
Both grete anoie and eke fwetnesse :
And joie ymeint with bittirneffe :
Now were thei efy and now wode;
In them I felt bothe harme and gode
Now fore without alleggement,
Now foftining with the ointment:
It foftenid here and prickid there;
Thus efe and angir were yfere.

The god of Love delivirly
Came lepande to me haftily,
And fayid to me in grete jape,
Yelde the, for thou maie not cfcape,
Maie no defence availe the here,
Therfore I rede make no daungere:
If thou wolt yelde the hastily
Thou shalt the rathir have mercie;
He is a fole in fikerneffe

That with daungir or with ftoutnesse
Rebellith there that he should plefe;
In foche folie is little efe;

Be meke where thou maft nedis bowe;
To ftrive ayen is not thy prowe:
Come at onis, and have idoc,
For I wolle that it be fo;
'Than yelde the here debonairly.
And I answerid full humbly,
All gladly, Sir, at your bidding
I woll me yelde in alle thing:
To your fervice I woll me take,
For God defende that should make

I