8 No broidered mantle of a scarlet hue,
No shoe-pikes plaited o'er with riband gear,
No costly robes of woaden blue,
Nought of a dress, but beauty did she wear;
Naked she was, and looked sweet of youth,
All did bewrayen that her name was Truth.
9 The easy ringlets of her nut-brown hair
What ne a man should see did sweetly hide,
Which on her milk-white bodykin so fair
Did show like brown streams fouling the white tide,
Or veins of brown hue in a marble cuarr,[7]
Which by the traveller is kenned from far.
10 Astounded mickle there I silent lay,
Still scauncing wondrous at the walking sight;
My senses forgard,[8] nor could run away,
But was not forstraught[9] when she did alight
Anigh to me, dressed up in naked view,
Which might in some lascivious thoughts abrew.
11 But I did not once think of wanton thought;
For well I minded what by vow I hete,
And in my pocket had a crochee[10] brought;
Which in the blossom would such sins anete;
I looked with eyes as pure as angels do,
And did the every thought of foul eschew.
12 With sweet semblate, and an angel's grace,
She 'gan to lecture from her gentle breast;
For Truth's own wordes is her minde's face,
False oratories she did aye detest:
Sweetness was in each word she did ywreene,
Though she strove not to make that sweetness seen.
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