The blosmes beth buxom speche,
And benigne lokynge;
Pacience hatte the pure tree,
And pure symple of herte;
10810
And so, thorugh God and thorugh goode men,
Groweth the fruyt charité."
"I wolde travaille," quod I, "this tree to se,
Twenty hundred myle;
And for to have my fulle of that fruyt,