CAP. XVIII. OF THE DOLOROUS AND LOWLY DISPUTACION BETWENE LA BEL PUCELL AND GRAUNDAMOURE. Councell and I than rose ful quickely And made us redy on her way to walke, In our clenly wede apparayled properly. What I wolde saye I dyd unto hym talke, Tyl on his boke he began to calke How the sonne entred was in Gemyne; And eke Dyane, ful of mutabilite, Entred the Crab, her propre mancyon, Than ryght amyddes of the Dragons hed; And Venus and she made conjuncyon. Frome the combust way she had her so sped, She had no let that was to be dredde, The assured ayre was depaynted clere With golden beames of fayre Phebus spere. Than forth so went good Counsell and I, At vi. a clocke, unto a garden fayre; By Musykes toure walked most goodly, Where La Bell Pucell used to repayre In the swete mornyng for to take the ayre Among the floures of aromatyke fume, The mysty ayre to exyle and consume. And at the gate we met the portresse, That was right gentill, and called Curteysy, Whych salved us wyth wordes of mekenesse, And axed us the veraye cause and why Of our comynge to the gardeine sothel? Truly, saide we, for nothyng but well, A lytel to speke with La Bell Pucell. Truly, quod she, in the garden grene Of many a swete and sundry floure She maketh a garlonde that is veray shene; Wyth true loves wrought in many a coloure, Replete with swetenes and dulcet odoure; And all alone, wythout company, Amyddes an herber she sitteth plesauntly. Nowe stande you styl for a lytle space, I wyll let her of you have knowledgynge. And ryght anone she went to her grace, Tellyng her than how we were comynge, To speke wyth her gretly desyrynge. Truly, she sayd, I am right well content Of theyr comyng to know the hole entent. Then good Curteysy, wythout taryenge, Came unto us wyth all her diligence, Prayeng us to take our entryng And come unto the ladies precence, To tell your erande to her excellence. Than in we wente to the garden gloryous, Lyke to a place of pleasure most solacyous. Wyth Flora paynted and wrought curyously, In divers knottes of marvaylous gretenes; Rampande lyons stode up wondersly, Made all of herbes with dulcet swetenes, Wyth many dragons of marvaylos likenes, Of dyvers floures made ful craftely, By Flora couloured wyth colours sundry. Amiddes the garden so moche delectable There was an herber fayre and quadrante, To paradyse right well comparable, Set all about with flours fragraunt; And in the myddle there was resplendyshaunte A dulcet spring and marvaylous fountaine, Of golde and asure made all certaine.