And the byrd{is} thar my{ch}ty voce out-throng, Quhill al the wood reſonite of thar ſonge, That gret confort till ony vicht It wer That pleſſith thame of luſtenes to here. 68 Bot gladneß til the tho{ch}tful, eu{er} mo The more he ſeith, the more he haith of wo. [Sidenote: the garden was adorned with flowers.] [Footnote T1: MS. “cloſit.”] [Footnote T2: May we read “alcest”?] [Headnote: HE SEES A VISION OF A GREEN BIRD.] Thar was the garding w{i}t{h} the flour{is} ourfret, Quich is in poſy fore my lady set, 72 That hire Repreſent to me oft befor, {And} thane alſo; thus al day gan be ſor[T3] Of tho{ch}t my goſt w{i}t{h} torment occupy, 75 That I becam̅e In to one exaſy, [Fol. 2.] Ore ſlep, or how I wot; bot ſo befell My wo haith done my livis goſt expell, And in ſich wiß weil long I can endwr, So me betid o wondir aventur. 80 [Sidenote: I fell there into an ecstasy or sleep, and saw in my dream a green bird, who said:] As I thus lay, Ry{ch}t to my ſpreit vas ſeñ A birde, yat was as ony lawrare greñ, A-licht, and ſayth in to hir bird{is} chere; [Footnote T3: MS. “beſor.”] [Headnote: THE BIRD’S MESSAGE.] “O woful wrech, that levis in to were! 84 To ſchew the thus the god of loue me ſent, That of thi ſ{er}uice no thing is content, [Sidenote: “The God of Love is discontent with thee.] For in his court yhoue lewith i{n} diſſpar, And vilfully suſtenis al thi care, 88 And ſchapith no thinge of thine awn remede, Bot clepith ay and cryith apone dede. Yhow callith the bird{is} be morow fro thar bour{is}, Yhoue devith boith the erbis and the flour{is}, 92 And clepit hyme vnfaithful king of lowe, Yow dewith hyme in to h{is} rigne abufe, Yhow tempith hyme, yhoue doith thi ſelf no gud, Yhoue are o moñ of wit al deſtitude. 96 [Sidenote: You are destitute of wit.] Wot yhoue no{ch}t that al liwis creatwre Haith of thi wo i{n} to h{is} hand the cwre? [Sidenote: Though you call on trees, your lady hears not.] And ſet yhoue clep one erbis and one treis, Sche her{is} not thi wo, nore ȝhit ſche ſeis; 100 For none may know the dirkneß of thi tho{ch}t, Ne blamyth h{er} thi wo ſche knowith no{ch}t. And It is weil accordinge It be so He ſuffir harme, that to redreß h{is} wo 104 Previdith not; for long ore he be ſonde, Holl of his leich, that ſchewith not h{is} vound. [Sidenote: Ovid says it is better to shew, than to conceal love.] And of owid ye autor ſchall yhow knaw Of lufe that ſeith, for to conſel or ſchow, 108 The laſt he clepith althir-beſt of two;