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,