When that Phœbus his chair of gold so hie Had whirlid up the sterrie sky aloft, And in the Bole was entrid certainly, When shouris sote of rain descendid soft, Causing the ground felè timis and oft Up for to give many an wholesome air, And every plain was yclothid faire: With newè grene, and makith smalè flours To springin here and there in field and mede, So very gode and wholesome be the shours, That they renewn that was old and dede In winter time, and out of every sede Springith the herbè, so that every wight Of this seson wexith richt glade and licht. And I so gladè of the seson swete, Was happid thus; upon a certain night As I lay in my bed slepe full unmete Was unto me, but why that I ne might Rest I ne wist, for there n'as erthly wight [As I suppose] had more of hertis ese Than I, for I n'ad sicknesse nor disese: Wherefore I mervaile gretly of my self That I so long withoutin slepè lay, And up I rose thre houris aftir twelfe, About the springing of the gladsome day, And on I put my gear and mine aray, And to a plesaunt grove I gan to pas Long or the bright sonne uprisin was; In which were okis grete, streight as a line, Undir the which the grass so freshe of hewe Was newly sprong, and an eight fote or nine Every tre well fro his fellow grew, With braunchis brode laden with levis new, That sprongin out agen the sonne shene: Some very rede, and some a glad light grene: Which [as me thought] was a right plesaunt sight; And eke the birdis songis for to here Would have rejoisid any erthly wight, And I, that couth not yet in no manere Herein the nightingale of all the yere, Full busily herk'nid with hert and ere If I her voice perceve could any where: And at the last a path of litil brede I found, that gretly had not usid be, For it forgrowin was with grass and wede, That well unnethis a wight might it se; Thought I, this path some whider doth parde; And so I followid till it me brought To a right plesant herbir wel ywrought, Which that benchid was, and with turfis new Freshly turvid, whereof the grene grass So small, so thick, so short, so fresh of hewe, That most like to grene woll wot I it was; The hegge also, that yedin in compas, And closid in allè the grene herbere, With sycamor was set and eglatere. Within, in fere so well and cunningly, That every braunch and lefe grew by mesure Plain as a bord, of an height by and by, I se nevir a thing [I you ensure] So well ydone, for he that toke the cure It for to make [I trowe] did all his peine To mak it pas al tho that men have seine. And shapin was this herber rofe and al As is a pretty parlour, and also The hegge as thick as is a castil wall, That who that list without to stond or go,