That nold his thankes such life lede:
For this dare I saine out of drede,
That who so mighte so well fare,
For better life durst him not care,
For there nis so good paradise,
As to haue a loue at his deuise:
Out of that place went I tho,
And in that garden gan I go,
Playing along full merely.
The god of loue full hastely
Unto him Sweet Looking clept,
No lenger would he that she kept

His bowe of gold, that shone so bright.
He had him bent anon right,
And he full soone set an end,
And at a braide he gan it bend,
And tooke him of his arrowes fiue,
Full sharpe and ready for to driue.

Now God that sitteth in maieste
Fro deadly woundes he keepe me,
If so be that he had me shete,
For if I with his arrow mete,
It had me greeued sore ywis,
But I, that nothing wist of this,
Went vp and downe full many a way,
And he me followed fast alway,
But no where would I reste me,
Till I had in all the garden be.

THE garden was by measuring
Right euen and square in compassing,
It as long was as it was large,
Of fruit had euery tree his charge,
But it were any hidous tree
Of whiche there were two or three.

There were, and that wote I full wele,
Of pomgranettes a full great dele,
That is a fruit full well to like,
Namely to folke when they ben sike:
And trees there were great foison,
That baren nuts in hir season,
Such as menne nutmegs call,
That swote of savour been withall,
And almandres great plentee,
Figges, and many a date tree
There weren, if menne had nede,
Through the gardin in length and brede.
There was eke wexing many a spice,
As clowe, gilofre, and licorice,
Gingere, and grein de Paris,
Canell, and setewale of pris,
And many a spice delitable,
To eaten when men rise fro table.

And many homely trees there were, That peaches, coines, and apples bere, Medlers, plummes, peeres, chesteinis, Cherise, of whiche many one faine is, Notes, aleis, and bolas,

That for to seene it was solas,
With many high laurer and pine,
Was renged clene all that gardine,
With cipres, and with oliueris,
Of which that nigh no plenty here is.
There were elmes great and strong,
Maples, ashe, oke, aspes, planes long,
Fine ewe, popler, and lindes faire,
And other trees full many a paire.

What should I tell you more of it?
There were so many trees yet,

That I should all encombred bee;
Ere I had reckoned euery tree.

These trees were set that I deuise,
One from another in assise
Fiue fadome or sixe, I trowe so,

But they were high and great also:
Aud for to keepe out well the Sunue,
The croppes were so thicke irunne,
And euery braunch in other knitte,
And full of greene leaues sitte,
That Sunne might there none descend,
Least the tender grasses shend.
There might menne does and roes isee,
And of squirrels full great plentee,
From bough to bough alway leping,
Connis there were also playing,
That comen out of hir clapers
Of sundry colours and maners,
And maden many a tourneying
Upon the freshe grassie springing.

In places saw I welles there,
In whiche there no frogges were;
And faire in shaddow was euery well;
But I ne can the number tell
Of stremis small, that by deuise
Mirthe had done come through condise,
Of which the water in renning
Gan make a noise full liking.

About the brinkes of these wels, And by the streames ouer all els Sprang vp the grasse, as thicke iset And soft as any veluet.

On which men might his lemman ley;
As on a featherbed to pley,

For the earth was fnll soft and swete:
Through moisture of the well wete
Sprong vp the, sote grene gras,
As faire, as thicke, as mister was.
But much amended it the place,
That therth was of such a grace
That it of floures hath plente,
That both in summer and winter be.
There sprang the violet all new,
And freshe peruinke rich of hew,
And floures yellow, white, and rede,
Such plenty grew there neuer in mede
Full gay was all the ground and queint;
And poudred, as men had it peint,
With many a fresh and sundry flour,
That casten vp full good sauour.

I woll not long hold you in fable
Of all this garden delectable,
I mote my tongue stinten nede,
For I ne may withouten drede
Naught tellen you the beautie all,
Ne halfe the bountie therewithall.

I went on right honde and on left
About the place, it was not left
Till I had all the garden beene
In the efters that men might seene.

And thus while I went in my playe;
The god of loue me followed aye.
Right as an hunter can abide
The beast, till he seeth his tide
To shooten at goodnessc to the deere,
Whan that him needeth go no neere,
And so befell, I rested mee
Besides a well vnder a tree,
Which tree in Fraunce men call a pine,
But sith the time of king Pepine

Ne grew there tree in mannes sight
So faire, ne so well woxe in hight,
In all that yard so high was none.
And springing in a marble stone
Had nature set, the sooth to tell,
Under that pine tree a well,
And on the border all without
Was written on the stone about
Letters small, that saiden thus,
Here starfe the faire Narcissus.

Narcissus was a bachelere,
That Loue had caught in his daungere,
And in his nette gan him so straine,
And did him so to weepe and plaine,
That need him must his life forgo:
For a faire lady, that hight Echo,
Him loued ouer any creature,
And gan for him such paine endure,
That on a time she him tolde,
That if he her louen nolde,
That her behoued needes die,
There lay none other remedie.

But nathelesse, for his beaute
So fierce and daungerous was he,
That he nolde graunten her asking,
For weeping, ne for faire praying.

And when she heard him werne her so,
She had in herte so grete wo,
And tooke it in so grete despite,
That she without more respite
Was dead anon: but ere she deide,
Ful pitously to God she preide,
That proude hearted Narcissus,
That was in love so daungerous,
Might on a day ben hampered so
For loue, and ben so hote for wo,
That neuer he might to joy attaine;
Then should he fele in very vaine
What sorrow true louers maken,
That ben so villainously forsaken.

THIS prayer was but reasonable,
Therefore God held it firme and stable.
For Narcissus shortly to tell,
By auenture came to that well
To rest him in the shaddowing
A day, when he came from hunting.
This Narcissus had suffred paines
For renning all day in the plaines,
And was for thurst in great distresse
Of herte, and of his wearinessc,
That had his breath almost benomen.
Whan he was to that well icomen,

That shaddowed was with braunches grene,
He thought of thilke water shene

To drinke and fresh him wele withall,
And downe on knees he gan to fall,

And forth his necke and head outstraught
To drinke of that well a draught:
And in the water anon was sene
His nose, his mouth, his eyen shene,
And he thereof was all abashed,
His owne shaddow had him betrashed,
For well wend he the forme see
Of a childe of great beautee,
Well couth Loue him wreke tho
Of daungere and of pride also
That Narcissus sometime him bere,
He quite him well his guerdon there,

For he mused so in the well,
That shortely the sooth to tell,
He loued his owne shaddow so,
That at last he starfe for wo:
For when he saw that he his will
Might in no manner way fulfill,
And that he was so faste caught
That he him couthe comfort naught,
He lost his wit right in that place
And deid within a little space,
And thus his warison he tooke
For the lady that he forsoke.

Ladies I praye ensample taketh,
Ye that ayenst your loue mistaketh:
For if of hir death be you to wite,
God can full well your wile quite.
When that this letter of which I tell,
Had taught me that it was the well
Of Narcissus in his beaute,

I gan anon withdrawe me,
When it fell in my remembraunce,
That him betide such mischaunce:
But at the laste than thought I,
That scatheless, full sikerly,

I might vnto the welle go,
Whereof shull I abashen so.
Unto the welle then went I mee,
And downe I louted for to see
The clere water in the stone,
And eke the grauell, which that shone
Downe in the bottome, as siluer fine:
For of the well, this is the fine,

In world is none so clere of hew,
The water is euer fresh and new
That welmeth vp with waues bright
The mountenaunce of two finger hight:
About it is grasse springing,

For moist so thicke and well liking,
That it ne may in winter die,
No more than may the see be drie.

DOWNE at the bottome set saw I
Two christal stones craftely
In thilke fresh and faire well:
But o thing soothly dare I tell,
That ye woll hold a great meruaile
Whan it is told withouten faile:
For whan the Sunne clere in sight
Cast in that well his beames bright,
And that the heat descended is,
Than taketh the christall stone iwis,
Againe the Sunne an hundred hewis,
Blew, yellow, and red, that fresh and new is:

Yet hath the meruailous christall

Such strength, that the place ouer all,
Both foule and tree, and leaues greene,
And all the yerd in it is seene:
And for to done you to vnderstond,
To make ensample woll I fond:
Right as a mirrour openly

Sheweth all thing that stondeth thereby,
As well the colour as the figure,
Withouten any couerture:
Right so the christall stone shining,
Withouten any deceiving,
The entrees of the yerd accuseth
To him that in the water museth:
For euer in which halfe ye bee,
Ye may well halfe the garden see:

And if he turne, he may right wele
Seene the remenaunt euery dele:
For there is none so little thing
So hid ne closed with shitting,
That it ne is seene, as though it were
Painted in the chrystall there.
This is the mirrour perillus,
In which the pronde Narcissus
Sey all his faire face bright,
That made him sith to lie vpright:
For who so looke in that mirrour,
There may nothing ben his succour
That he ne shall there see something
That shall him lede into laughing:
Full many a worthy man hath it
Yblent, for folke of greatest wit
Ben soone caught here and waited,
Withouten respite ben they baited:
Here commeth to folke of new rage,
Here chaungeth many wight courage,
Here lithe no rede ne wit thereto,
For Venus sonne, dan Cupido,
Hath sowen there of loue the sede,
That helpe ne lithe there none, ne rede,
Só cercleth it the well about:
His ginnes hath he set without
Right for to catch in his panters
These damosels and bachelers.
Loue will none other birde catch,
Though he set either nette or latch:
And for the seed that here was sowen,
This well is cleped, as well is knowen,
The Well of Loue, of very right,
Of which there hath full many wight
Spoken in bookes diuersly:
But they shull neuer so verily
Description of the well here,
Ne eke the sooth of this matere,
As ye shull, when I haue vndo
The craft that her belongeth to..

ALWAY me liked for to dwell,
To seene the christall in the well,
That shewed me full openly
A thousand thinges faste by,
But I may say in sorry houre
Stode I to looken or to poure:
For sithen I sore sigked,

That mirrour hath me now entriked:
But had I first knowen in my wit
The vertue and strengthes of it,
I nolde not haue mused there,
Me had bette ben eleswhere,
For in the snare I fell anone,
That had bitreshed many one.

In thilke mirrour saw I tho,
Among a thousand things mo,
A roser charged full of rosis,
That with an hedge about enclosis,
Tho had I such lust and enuie,
That for Paris ne for Pauie,
Nolde I haue left to gone and see,
There greatest heape of roses bee.
Whan I was with that rage hent,

That caught hath many a man and shent,
Toward the roser gan 1 go,

And whan I was not ferre therefro,

The sauer of the roses swote

Me smote right to the heart rote,

As I had all enbaumed be:
And if I ne had endouted me
To haue ben hated or assailed,
My thankes woll I not have failed
To pull a rose of all that rout
To beare in mine honde about,
And smellen to it where I went,
But ever I drede me to repent,
And least it greved or forthought
The lord that thilke gardin wrought.
Of roses there were great wone,
So faire were never in Rone:
Of knopes close, some saw I there,
And some well better woxen were,
And some there been of other moison,
That drowe nigh to hir season,

And sped hem faste for to spred,

I love well such roses red:

For brode roses, and open also,
Ben passed in a day or two,
But knoppes will fresh bee
Two dayes at least, or els three.
The knoppes greatly liked mee,
For fairer may there no man see:
Who so might have one of all,
It ought him been full lefe witha!l!
Might I garlonde of hem getten,
For no richesse I would it letten.

Amongs the knoppes I chese one
So faire, that of the remnaunt none
Ne preise I halfe so well as it,
Whan I avise in my wit,
For it so well was enlumined
With colour red, as well fined
As nature couth it make faire,
And it hath leaves well foure paire,
That kind hath set through his knowing
About the red roses springing,

The stalke was as rishe right,
And thereon stood the knoppe upright,
That it ne bowed upon no side,
The swote smell sprung so wide,
That it died all the place about.
Whan I had smelled the savour swote,
No will had I fro thence yet go,
But somedele nere it went I tho
To take it, but mine hond for drede
Ne durst I to the rose bede,
For thistles sharpe of many manners,
Nettles, thornes, and hooked briers,
For muche they distourbled me,
For sore I drad to harmed be.

THE god of love, with bowe bent,.
That all day set had his talent
To pursue and to spien mee,
Was stonding by a figge tree,
And when he sawe how that I
Had chosen so ententifely
The bothum more unto my pey,
Than any other that I sey:
He tooke an arrow full sharpely whef,
And in his bowe when it was set,
He streight up to his eare drough
The strong bowe, that was so tough,
And shot at me so wonder smert,
That through mine eye unto mine hert
The takell smote, and deepe it went:
And therewithall such cold me hent,

That under clothes warme and soft,
Sithen that day I have chivered oft.
When I was hurte thus in stound,
I fell down plat unto the ground,
Mine herte failed and fainted aye,
And long time in swoune I lay:
But when I came out of swouning,
And had my wit, and my feeling.
I was all mate, and wend full wele
Of blood, have lorne a full great dele,
But certes the arrow that in me stood,
Of me ne drew no drop of blood,
For why I found my wounds all drey.

Than tooke I with mine hondes twey
The arrow, and full fast it out plight,
And in the pulling sore I sight,
So at the last the shaft of tree.
I drough out, with the feathers three,
But yet the hooked head ywis,
The whiche Beauty called is,
Gan so deepe in mine herte pace,
That I it might not arace,
But in mine herte still it stood,
All bled I not a drop of blood:
I was both anguishous and trouble,
For the perill that I saw double,
I nist what to say or do,
Ne get a leach my wounds to,

For neither through grasse ne rote,
Ne had I helpe of hope ne bote.
But to the bothum evermo
Mine herte drew, for all my wo,
My thought was in none other thing,
For had it been in my keeping,
It would have brought my life againe,
For certes evenly, I dare well saine,
The sight only, and the savour,
Alegged much of my langour.

Than gan I for to drawe mee
Toward the bothum faire to see,
And Love had gette him in his throwe
Another arrowe into his bowe,
And for to shote gan him dresse,
The arrowes name was Simplesse,
And when that love gan nigh me nere,
He drowe it up withouten were,
And shot at me with all his might,
So that this arrow anon right
Throughout eigh as it was found,
Into mine herte hath made a wound.
Than I anon did all my craft
For to drawen out the shaft,
And therwithall I sighed eft,

But in mine herte the head was left,
Which aye increased my desire;
Unto the bothum drow I nere,
And evermo that me was wo
The more desire had I to go
Unto the roser, where that grew
The fresh bothum so bright of hew,
Better me were to have letten be,
But it behoved nede me
To doen right as mine herte bad:
For ever the body must be lad
After the herte, in wele and wo,
Of force together they must go.
But never this archer would fine
To shote at me with all his pine,
And for to make me to him mete.
The third arrow he gan to shete,

Whan best his time he might espie,
The which was named Courtesie,
Into mine herte he did avale,

A swoune I fell, both dead and pale,
Long time I lay, and stirred nought,
Till I abraied out of my thought.
And faste than I avised mee
To drawe out the shaft of tree,
But ever the head was left behind
For ought I couthe pull or wind,
So sore it sticked when I was hit,
That by no craft I might it flit,
But anguishous and full of thought,
I felt such wo, my wound aye wrought,
That summoned me alway to go
Toward the rose, that pleased me so,
But I ne durst in no manere
Because the archer was so nere.

For evermore gladly as I rede,
Brent child of fire hath much drede.
And certes yet for all my pein,
Though that I sigh, yet arrowes rein,
And ground quareles sharpe of stele,
Ne for no paine that I might fele,
Yet might I not my selfe withhold
The faire roser to behold,

For Love me yave such hardement
For to fulfill his commaundement,
Upon my feet I rose up thau
Feeble, as a forwounded man:
And forth to gone my might I set,
And for the archer nold I let,
Toward the roser fast I drow
But thornes sharpe, mo than ynow
There were, and also thistles thicke,
And breres brimme for to pricke,
That I ne might get grace
The rough thornes for to pace
To seene the roses fresh of hew,
I must abide, though it me rew,
The hedge about so thicke was,
That closed the roses in compas.

But o thing liked me right wele,
I was so nigh, I might f le
Of the bothum the swote odour,
And also see the fresh colour,
And that right greatly liked mee,
That I so nere might it see,
Such joy anon thereof had I,
That I forgat my malady,
To seene I had such delite,
Of sorrow and anger I was all quite,
And of my wounds that I had thore,
For nothing liken me might more,
Than dwellen by the roser aye,
And thence never to passe awaye:
But whan a while I had be thare,
The god of love, which all to share
Mine heart with his arrowes kene,
Casteth him to yeve me woundes grene,
He shot at me full hastely
An arrow named Company,
The whiche takell is full able
To make these ladies merciable,
Than I anone gan chaungen hew
For greevaunce of my wounde new,
That I againe fell in swouning,
And sighed sore in complaining.

Sore I complained that my sore On me gan greven more and more,

I had none hope of allegiaunce,
So nigh I drow to disperaunce,,
I rought of death, ne of life,
Whether that love would me drife,
If me a martir would he make,
I might his power not forsake:
And while for anger thus I woke,
The god of love an arrow toke,
Full sharpe it was and pugnaunt,
And it was called Faire Semblaunt,
The which in no wise would consent,
That any lover him repent

To serve his love with herte and all,
For any perill that may befall.

But thought his arrow was kene ground,
As any rasour that is found,

To cut and kerve at the point,
The god of love it had annoint
With a precious oyntment,
Somedele to yeve allegemeut
Upon the woundes that he hade
Through the body in my heart made,
To helpe hir sores, and to cure,
And that they may the bette endure:
But yet this arrow, without more,
Made in mine heart a large sore,
That in full greate paine 1 abode,
But aye the ointment went abrode
Throughout my woundes large and wide,
It sprede about in every side:
Through whose vertue and whose might,
Mine herte joyfull was and light.
I had ben dead and all to shent
But for the precious ointment:
The shaft I drow out of the arrow,
Rooking for wo right wonder narrow,
But the head, which made me smart,
Left behinde in mine heart

With other fower, I dare well say,
That never woll be take away,
But the ointment halpe me wele,
And yet such sorrow did I fele,
That all day I chaunged hew,
Of my woundes fresh and new,
As men might see in my visage,
The arrowes were so full of rage,
So variaunt of diversitee,
That men in everiche might see
Both great annoy and eke sweetnesse,
And joy meint with bitternesse:

Now were they easie, now were they wood,
In hem I felt both harme and good,
Now sore without alleggement,
Now softing with the ointement,
It softened here, and priked there,
Thus ease and anger together were.

THE god of love deliverly
Come lepande to me hastely,
And saied to me in great yape,
"Yeeld thee, for thou may not escape,
May no defence availe thee here:
Therefore I rede make no daungere.
If thou wold yeeld thee bastely,
Thou shalt rather have mercy:
He is a foole in sikernesse,
That with daunger or stoutnesse
Rebelleth there that he should please,
In such folly is little ease.

Be meeke, where thou must needes bowe,
To strive ayen is not thy prowe:
Come at ones, and have ido,
For I woll that it be so,

Then yeeld thee here debonairly."
And I answered full humbly,
"Gladly sir, at your bidding,

I woll me yeeld in all thing:
To your service I woll me take,
For God defend that I should make
Ayen your bidding resistence.
I woll not doen so great offence,
For if I did, it were no skill,
Ye may doe with me what ye will,
Save or spill, and also slo,
Fro you in no wise may I go,
My life, my death, is in your hond,
I may not last out of your bond,
Plaine at your list I yeeld me,
Hoping in heart, that sometime ye
Comfort and ese shull me send :
Or els shortly, this is the end,
Withouten health I mote aye dure,
But if ye take me to your cure:
Comfort or health, how should I have,
Sith ye me hurt, but ye me save?
The health of love mote be found,
Whereas they token first hir wound:
And if ye list of me to make
Your prisoner, I woll it take
Of heart and will fully at gree,
Holy and plaine I yeeld mee
Without feining or fentise
To be governed by your emprise:
Of you I heare so much prise,
I woll been whole at your devise
For to fulfill your liking
And repent for nothing,
Hoping to have yet in some tide
Mercy, of that I abide:"

And with that covenaunt yeeld I mee,
Anon downe kneeling upon my knee,
Profering for to kisse his fete,

But for nothing he would me lete.

And said," I love thee both and preise,
Sens that thine answere doth me ese :
For thou answered so curtesly,
For now I wote well utterly,

That thou art gentle by thy speech:
For though a man ferre would seech,
He shuld not finden in certaine,
No such answere of no villaine:
For such a worde ne might nought
Issue out of a villaines thought.
Thou shalt not lesen of thy speche,
For thy helping woll I eche,
And eke encrcasen that I may:
But first I woll that thou obay
Fully for thine avauntage
Anone to doe me here homage:
And sithe kisse thou shalt my mouth,
Which to no villaine was never couth
For to approch it, ne for to touch,
For saufe of cherles I ne vouch
That they shall never neigh it nere;
For curteis, and of faire manere,
Well taught, and full of gentlenesse
He must be, that shall me kisse,
And also of full high Fraunchise,
That shall attaine to that emprise.