Here tells the Dreamer of Richesse,
Who counteth her of high noblesse,
But so consumed is she with pride,
That all poor men she casts aside,
And therefore less beloved by far
Than those who sweet and courteous are.
The author here of fair Narcisse
Doth tell the tale, who was, ywis,
Drawn on to love his proper shade,
Seen in a well, and thereby made
His life so wretched, that at last
He pined and wasted till he passed
To nothingness. His soul doth sit
Beside the fount and dream of it.