Rysyn was Phebus, shynyng in the glasse,
In the chamber his golden rayes were spred,
And Dyane derlyng pale as any leade,
Whan the lytle byrdes swetely dyd syng
With tunes musicall in the fayre mornyng.
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,