<< And wite ye who was his leef? Dame GLADNES ther was him so leef, GLADNESSE. That singeth so wel with glad corage, That from she was twelve yeer of age, 850 She of hir love graunt him made. Sir Mirthe hir by the finger hadde [In] daunsing, and she him also; Gret love was atwixe hem two. Bothe were they faire and brighte of hewe; 855 She semede lyk a rose newe Of colour, and hir flesh so tendre, That with a brere smale and slendre Men mighte it cleve, I dar wel sayn. Hir forheed, frounceles al playn. 860 Bente were hir browes two, Hir yën greye, and gladde also, That laughede ay in hir semblaunt, First or the mouth, by covenaunt. I not what of hir nose descryve; 865 So fair hath no womman alyve.... Hir heer was yelowe, and cleer shyning, I wot no lady so lyking. >> Savés-vous qui estoit s'amie? Léesce qui nel' haoit mie, L'envoisie, la bien chantans, Qui dès lors qu'el n'ot que sept ans De s'amor li donna l'otroi; Déduit la tint parmi le doi 840 A la karole, et ele lui, Bien s'entr'amoient ambedui: Car il iert biaus, et ele bele, Bien resembloit rose novele De sa color. S'ot la char tendre, Qu'en la li péust toute fendre A une petitete ronce. Le front ot blanc, poli, sans fronce, Les sorcis bruns et enarchiés, Les yex gros et si envoisiés, 850 Qu'il rioient tousjors avant Que la bouchete par convant. Je ne vous sai du nés que dire, L'en nel' féist pas miex de cire. Ele ot la bouche petitete, Et por baisier son ami, preste; Le chief ot blons et reluisant. Que vous iroie-je disant? Bele fu et bien atornée; D'ung fil d'or ere galonnée, 860 S'ot ung chapel d'orfrois tout nuef; Je qu'en oi véu vint et nuef, << Of orfrays fresh was hir gerland; I, whiche seen have a thousand, 870 Saugh never, y-wis, no gerlond yit, So wel [y]-wrought of silk as it. And in an over-gilt samyt Clad she was, by gret delyt, Of which hir leef a robe werde, 875 The myrier she in herte ferde. And next hir wente, on hir other syde, CUPIDE. The god of Love, that can devyde Love, as him lyketh it [to] be. But he can cherles daunten, he, 880 And maken folkes pryde fallen. And he can wel these lordes thrallen, And ladies putte at lowe degree, Whan he may hem to proude see. This God of Love of his fasoun 885 Was lyk no knave, ne quistroun; His beautee gretly was to pryse. But of his robe to devyse I drede encombred for to be. For nought y-clad in silk was he, 890 But al in floures and flourettes, Y-painted al with amorettes;