Through-out al the grene wode wyde.
'A! goode Nightingale!' quod I thenne,
'A litel hast thou been to longe henne;
For here hath been the lew[e]de Cukkow,
And songen songes rather than hast thou;
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I pray to god that evel fyr him brenne!'
But now I wol you telle a wonder thing:
As longë as I lay in that swowning,
Me thoughte, I wiste what the briddes ment,