For after that sche was a brid, Hir will was evere to ben hid, 5950 And forto duelle in prive place, That noman scholde sen hir face For schame, which mai noght be lassed, Of thing that was tofore passed, Whan that sche loste hir maidenhiede: For evere upon hir wommanhiede, Thogh that the goddes wolde hire change, Sche thenkth, and is the more strange, And halt hir clos the wyntres day. Bot whan the wynter goth away, 5960 And that Nature the goddesse Wole of hir oughne fre largesse With herbes and with floures bothe The feldes and the medwes clothe, And ek the wodes and the greves Ben heled al with grene leves, So that a brid hire hyde mai, Betwen Averil and March and Maii, Sche that the wynter hield hir clos, For pure schame and noght aros, 5970 Whan that sche seth the bowes thikke, And that ther is no bare sticke, Bot al is hid with leves grene, To wode comth this Philomene And makth hir ferste yeres flyht; Wher as sche singeth day and nyht, And in hir song al openly Sche makth hir pleignte and seith, “O why, O why ne were I yit a maide?” For so these olde wise saide, 5980 Which understoden what sche mente, Hire notes ben of such entente. And ek thei seide hou in hir song Sche makth gret joie and merthe among, And seith, “Ha, nou I am a brid, Ha, nou mi face mai ben hid: Thogh I have lost mi Maidenhede, Schal noman se my chekes rede.” Thus medleth sche with joie wo And with hir sorwe merthe also, 5990 So that of loves maladie Sche makth diverse melodie, And seith love is a wofull blisse, A wisdom which can noman wisse, A lusti fievere, a wounde softe: This note sche reherceth ofte To hem whiche understonde hir tale. Nou have I of this nyhtingale, Which erst was cleped Philomene, Told al that evere I wolde mene, 6000 Bothe of hir forme and of hir note, Wherof men mai the storie note.