" Throgh me men gon into that blysful place Of hertes hele and dedly woundes cure; Thorgh me men gon unto the welle of grace, There grene and lusty May shal evere endure. This is the wey to al good aventure. Be glad, thow redere, and thy sorwe of-caste; Al open am I - passe in, and sped thee faste!' 'Thorgh me men gon,' than spak that other side, 'Unto the mortal strokes of the spere Of which Disdayn and Daunger is the gyde, There nevere tre shal fruyt ne leves bere. This strem yow ledeth to the sorweful were There as the fish in prisoun is al drye; The'eschewing is only the remedye! "