The flore was paved with precious stones, And the rofe of mervaylous geometry, Of the swete sypres wrought for the nones, Encencing out the yll odours mysty; Amyddes the rofe there shone full wonderly A poynted dyamonde of mervaylous bygnes, With many other greate stones of ryches. So up we wente, to a chambre fayre, A place of pleasure and delectacyon, Strowed with floures flagraunte of ayre, Without ony spotte of perturbacyon. I behelde ryght well the operacyon Of the mervaylous rofe set full of rubyes, And tynst with saphers and many turkeys. The walles were hanged with golden aras, Whiche treated well of the syege of Thebes. And yet all about us depured was The cristallyne wyndowes of great bryghtnes. I can nothynge extende the goodlynes Of this palays, for it is impossyble To shewe all that unto me vysyble. But La Belle Pucell full ryght gentylly Dyde sytte adowne by a wyndowes syde, And caused me also full swetely By her to sytte at that gentyll tyde. Whelcome! she sayd, ye shall with me abyde, After your sorowe to lyve in joye and blysse; You shall have that ye have deserved ywys. Her redolente wordes of swete influence Degouted vapoure moost aromatyke, And made conversyon of complacence; Her depured and her lusty rethoryke My courage reformed, that was so lunatyke; My sorowe defeted, and my mynde dyde modefy, And my dolorous herte began to pacyfy. All thus my love we gan to devyse, For eche of other were ryght joyous. Than at the last in a mervaylous wyse Full sodaynly there came unto us Lyteil Cupyde with his mother Venus, Which was well cladde in a fayre mantyll blewe, With golden hertes that were perst anewe. And rounde about us she her mantyll cast, Sayeng that she and her sone Cupyde Wolde us conjoyne in mariage in hast; And to lete knowe all youre courte soo wyde, Sende you Perseveraunce before to provyde, To warne your ladyes for to be redy, To morowe betyme ryght well and solemply. We answered bothe our hertes were in one, Sayeng that we dyde ryght well agre, For all our foes were added and gone. Ryght gladde I was that joyfull day to se; And than anone, with grete humylytie, La Bell Pucell to a fayre chambre bryght, Dyde me than brynge for to rest all nyght. And she toke her leve, I kyst her lovely. I wente to bedde, but I coude not slepe, For I thought so moche upon her inwardly, Her moost swete lokes in to my herte dyde crepe, Percynge it through with a wounde so depe; For Nature thought every houre a daye Tyll to my lady I sholde my dette well paye. CAP. XXXIX. OF THE GRETE MARIAGE BETWENE GRAUNDE AMOURE AND LA BELLE PUCELL.