"Moteleȝ may so meke and mylde",
Þen sayde I to þat lufly flor,
"Bryng me to þat bygly bylde
And let me se þy blysful bor."
Þat schene sayde: "Þat God wyl schylde;
Þou may not enter wythinne hys tor."

"Moteless maiden so meek and mild," / Then said I to that fairest flower, / Bring me to that bountiful pile / And let me see your blissful bower." / "God will forbid it," the bright one said. / "You shall not enter his holy place."

Line 961.