Cap. II. of the Swete Reporte of Fame of the Fayre Lady la Bell Pucell in the Toure of Musycke

And after thys, Fame gan to expresse Of jeoperdous way to the toure peryllous, And of the beaute and the semelynesse Of La Bel Pucell; so gaye and gloryous, That dwelled in the toure so marveylous; Unto whyche might come no maner of creature, But by great laboure and harde adventure.

For by the way theyr lye in wayte Gyauntes great, dysfigured of nature, That all devoureth by theyr yll conceyte; Agaynst whose streingth there may no man endure, They are so huge and stroonge out of measure; Wyth many serpentes foule and odyous, In sundry lykenesse blacke and tedyous.

But behynde them a great see there is, Beyonde whyche see there is a goodly lande Most full of fruyte replete wyth joye and blysse. Of ryght fyne golde appereth all the sande In this fayre realme, where the tower doth stand, Made all of golde, enameled aboute Wyth noble storyes whyche do appere wythout.

In whyche dwelleth by great aucthorytie Of La Bell Pucell, whyche is so fayre and bryght, To whome in beaute no pere I can se; For lyke as Phebus above all sterres in lyght, Whan that he is in his spere aryght, Dothe excede wyth his beames cleare, So dothe her beaute above other appeare.

She is bothe good, ay wyse and vertuous, And also dyscended of a noble lyne; Ryche, comly, ryght meke, and bounteous; All maner vertues in her clerely shyne: No vyce of her may ryght longe domine. And I, dame Fame, in every nacyon Of her do make the same relacyon.

Her swete reporte so my hert set on fyre Wyth brennyng love moost hot and fervent, That her to se I had greate desyre; Sayenge to Fame; O lady excellent, I have determyned in my judgement, For La Bell Pucell the most fayre lady To passe the waye of so greate jeopardy.

You shall, quod Fame, obtayne the vyctory, If you wyl do as I shall you saye, And all my lesson retayne in memory. To the toure of Doctryne ye shall take your waye. You are now wythin a dayes journeye; Bothe these greyhoundes shal kepe you company: Loke that you cheryshe them full gentely.

And Countenance, the goodly portres, Shall let you in ful well and nobly, And also shewe you of the parfytenes Of all the seven scyences ryght notably. There in your mynde you may ententyfly Unto dame Doctryne gyve parfyte audyence, Whyche shall enforme you in every scyence.

Farewell, she sayde, I maye not now abyde; Walke on your waye, wyth all your hole delyght, To the toure of Doctrine at thys morowe tyde, Ye shall to morowe of it have a syght. Kepe on your waye now before you right, For I must hence to specyfy the dedes Of theyr worthynesse accordynge to theyr medes.

And wyth that she dyd from me depart, Upon her stede swyfter than the wynde. Whan she was gone, full wofull was my herte; Wyth inward trouble oppressed was my mynde. Yet were the greyhoundes left wyth me behynde, Whyche did me comforte in my great vyage To the toure of Doctryne, with their fawnynge courage.

So forthe I went, tossynge on my brayne, Greatly musyng, over hyll and vale. The way was troublous, and ey nothing playne; Tyll at the laste I came to a dale, Beholdyng Phebus declinyng lowe and pale; With my grayhoundes, in the fayre twylight, I sate me downe for to rest me all nyght.

Slouthe upon me so fast began to crepe, That of fyne force I downe me layed Upon an hyll with my greyhoundes to slepe. When I was downe, I thought me well apayed, And to my selfe these wordes then I sayde: Who will attaine sone to his journeys ende, To nouryshe slouthe he may not condiscende.