MANEO NEMINI 



I wol nat longe holde you in fable 

 Of al this garden delectable, 

 I mote my tonge stynted nede; 

 For I ne maye withouten drede 

 Naught tellen you the beaute al, 

 Ne halfe the bounte there with al. 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 

 " The Romaunt of the Rose 



A garden saw I ful of blosmy bowes 

 Up on a river in a grene mede, 

 There as ther swetnesse evermore y-now is; 

 With floures white, blewe, yelwe, and rede, 

 And colde welle-stremes, no-thyng dede, 

 That swommen ful of smale fisches lighte, 

 With fynnes rede and scales silver-brighte. 



On every bough the briddes herde I synge, 



With voys of aungel in her armonye; 



Som besyede hem hir briddes forth to brynge. 



The litel conyes to hir play gunne hye; 



And further al aboute I gan aspye 



The dredful roo, the buk, the hert and hynde, 



Squerels and bestes smale of gentil kynde. 



[29] 



