A pfaltir helde fhe fast in honde,
And bufily fhe gan to fonde
To make many a faint praiere
To God and to his fainctis dere:
Ne she was gaie, freshe, ne jolife,
But femed to be full ententife
To godè werkis and to faire,
And therto she had on an haire.
Ne certis fhe was fatte nothing,
But femid werie for fasting:
Of colour pale and dede was the;
From her the gates aie warnid be
Of Paradise, that blisfull place,
For foche folke makin lene ther grace,
As Chrift faieth in his Evangile,
To get 'hem prise in toune a while,
She ne' had on but a straite old facke, And many' a cloute on it there ftacke;
This was her cote and her mantele;
No more was there nevir a dele
To clothe her with; I undirtake
Grete lefir hadde fhe to quake:
And she was put that I of talke
Ferre fro these othre', up in an halke;
There lurkid and there courid fhe,
For povir thing, where fo it be,
Is fhamefaft and difpifid aie:
A curfid maie well be that daie
That povir man conceivid is,
For God wote all to felde i-wis
Is any pore man well ifed,
Or well arayid or icled,
Or well belovid, in foche wife
In honour that he maie arife.
Allè thefe thingis well avifed,
As I have you er this devised,
With gold and asure ovir all
Depaintid were upon the wall:
Square was the wall, and high somdele,
Enclofid and ibarrid wele
In ftede of hegge was that gardin,
Came nevir no fhepherd therein:
Into that gardin well. ywrought
Who fo that me coud have ybrought
By ladders, or els by degre,
It wouldè well have likid me;
For foche folace, foche joie and pleie,
I trowe that nevir man ne feie
As was in that place delicious:
The gardin was not daungerous
To herborowe birdes many one;
So riche a yere was nevir none
Of birdis fong and braunchis grene,
Therin were birdis mo I wene
Than ben in all the relme of Fraunce;
Full blisfull was the accordaunce
Of the fwete petous fong thei made,
For all this worlde it ought to glade.
And I my self fo mery ferde,
Whan I ther blisfull fongis herde,
That for an hundrid pounde would I,
If that the paffage opinly
Haddin ybe unto me fre,
That I n'olde entrin for to fe
Th' affemble (God kepe it fro care!)
Of birdis whiche that therein ware,
That fongin through ther mery throtes
Dauncis of love and mery notes.
Whan I thus herd the foulis fing
I fell fast in a waimenting
By whiche art or by what engin
I might come into that gardin;
But waie I couthe ne findin none
Into that gardin for to gone,
Was nevir wight yet halfe fo wo
As that her femid for to be,
Nor fo fulfilled with yre as fhe;
I trow that no wight might her plefe,
Nor do that thing that might her efe;
Nor the ne would her forowe flake,
Nor comfort none unto her take,
So depe ywas her wo begonne,
And eke her hert in angre ronne.
A forowful thing wel femid fhe;
Nor she had nothing flowe ybe
For to befcratchin all her face,
And for to rent in many place
Her clothes, and for to tere her swire,
For who fo forowfull is in herte
Him luftith not to plaie ne fterte,
Nor for to dauncin ne to fing,
Ne maie his herte in temper bring
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