WHEN that Phoebus his chair of gold so hie
Had whirlid up the sterrie sky aloft,
And in the Bole was entrid certainly;
When shouris sote of rain descendid soft,
Causing the ground fele timis and oft,
Up for to give many an wholesome air;
And every plain was vclothid faire

With newe grene; and makith smale flours
To springin here and there in field and mede,—
So very gode and wholesom be the shours,
That they renewin that was old and dede
In wintir time; and out of every sede
Springith the herbe; so that every wight
Of this seson wexith richt glad and light.

And I so glade of the seson swete,
Was happid thus, Upon a certain night,
As I lay in my bed, slepe full unmete
Was unto me; but why that I ne might
Rest, I ne wist; for there n'as erthly wight
(As I suppose) had more of hertis ese
Than I, for I n'ad sicknesse nor disese;

Wherfore I mervaile gretly of my self,
That I so long withoutin slepe lay,-
And up I rose thre houris after twelfe,
About the springing of the gladsome day,
And on I put my gear, and mine aray,
And to a plesaunt grove I gan to pas,
Long or the bright sonne uprisin was,

In which were okis grete, streight as a line,
Undir the which the grass, so freshe of hew,
Was newly sprong; and, an eight fote or nine,
Every tre well fro his fellow grew,

With braunchis brode, ladin with levis new,
That sprongin out agen the sonne shene,-
Some very rede, and some a glad light grene.

Which (as me thought) was a right plesaunt sight;
And eke the birdis songis for to here,
Would have rejoisid any erthly wight,
And I, that couth not yet in no manere
Herin the nightingale of all the yere,
Full busily herknid, with hert and ere,
If I her voice perceve could any where.

And, at the last, a path of litil brede,
I found, that gretly had not usid be;
For it forgrowin was with grass and wede,
That well unnethis a wight might it se;

Thought I, this path some whidir goth, parde; And so I followid; till it me brought

To a right plesaunt herbir wel ywrought,

Which that benchid was, and with turfis new
Freshly turnid; whereof the grene gras,
So small, so thick, so short, so fresh of hew,
That most like to grene woll, wot I, it was.
The hegge also-that yedin in compas,
And closid in alle the grene herbere—
With sycamor was set, and eglatere

Writhin in fere so well and cunningly,
That every braunch and lefe grew by mesure
Plain as a bord, of an height by and by ;-
I se nevir a thing (I you ensure)

So well ydone; for he that toke the cure
It for to make, (I trowe) did all his peine
To make it pass all tho that men have seine.—

And shapin was this herbir, rofe and all,
As is a pretty parlour; and also,
The hegge as thick as is a castil wall,
That who that list, without, to stond or go,
Thogh he wold all day pryin to and fro,
He should not se if there were any wight
Within or no; but one within, well might

Perceve all tho that yedin there without
Into the field, that was on every side,
Cover'd with corn and grass, that, out of doubt,
Tho one would sekin all the worlde wide,
So rich a felde could not be espyde,

Upon no cost, as of the quantity;

For of alle gode thing there was plenty.

*

And as I stode, and cast aside mine eye,
I was ware of the fairist medler tre
That evir yet in all my life I se,
As full of blossomis as it might be;
Therein a goldfinch leping pretily

Fro bough to bough, and, as him list, he ete
Here and there of buddis and flouris swete.

And to the herbir side was adjoyning
This fairist tre, of which I have you told,
And, at the last, the bird began to sing
(When he had etin what he etin wold)
So passing swetely, that, by many fold,
It was more plesaunt than I couth devise:
And whan his song was endid in this wise,

The nightingale, with so mery a note,
Answerid him, that alle the wode yrong
So sodainly, that, as it were a sote,

I stode astonied, and was, with the song,
Thorow ravishid; that, till late and long,
I ne wist in what place I was, ne where;
And ayen, methought, she song even by mine ere.

Wherefore I waitid about busily

On every side, if I hir might se;
And, at the last, I gan full well aspy

Where she sate in a fresh grene lauryr tre,
On the furthir side, evin right by me,
That gave so passing a delicious smell,
According to the eglatere full well.

Whereof I had so inly grete plesure,-
As methought, I surely ravishid was
Into Paradise, wherein my desire
Was for to be, and no ferthir pas
As for that day, and on the sote grass
I sat me down; for, as for mine entent,
The birdis song was more convenient,

And more plesaunt to me by many fold,
Than mete or drink, or any othir thing.
Thereto, the herbir was so fresh and cold,
The wholsome savours eke so comforting,
That (as I demid) sith the beginning
Of the worlde, was nevir seen, er than,
So plesaunt a ground of none erthly man.

And as I sat, the birdis herkening thus,
Methought that I herd voicis, suddainly,
The most swetist, the most delicious
That evir any wight, I trow trewly,

Herdin in ther life; for the armony

And swete accord, was in so gode musike,
That the voicis to angels most were like.

At the last, out of a grove, evin by,
(That was right godely and plesaunt to sight)
Ìse where there came singing, lustily,
A world of ladies; but to tell aright
Ther beauty grete, lyith not in my might,
Ne ther array; nevirtheless I shall
Tell you a part, tho' I speke not of all:

The surcots, white, of velvet well fitting
They werin clad; and the semis eche one,
As it werin a mannir garnishing,
Was set with emeraudis, one and one,
By and by, but many a riche stone

Was set on the purfilis, out of dout,

Of collours, sleves, and trainis, round about;

As of grete perlis, round and orient,
And diamondis fine, and rubys red,

And many othir stone, of which I went
The namis now; and everich on hire hede
A rich fret of gold, which, withoutin drede,
Was full of stately rich stonys set;
And every lady had a chapelet,

On ther hedis, of braunchis fresh and grene,
So wele ywrought, and so marvelously,
That it was a right noble sight to sene;
Some of laurir, and some full plesauntly,
Had chapelets of wodebind; and, sadly,
Some of agnus castus werin also,
Chaplets fresh, but there were many of tho,

That dauncid and, eke, song full sobirly;
But all they yede in maner of compace.
But one there yede, in mid the company,
Sole, by herself: but all follow'd the pace
That she kept: whose hevinly figured face
So plesaunt was, and hir wele shape person,
That of beauty she past them everichone.