Withoutin pecis or joynynges, But many fubtill compaffynges, As barbicans and pinnacles, Imageries and tabernacles,
I fawe, and full eke of windowes,
As flakis fallin in grete fnowes, And eke in eche of the pinacles Ywerin fondrie habitacles, In whiche ftodin all withoutin Full the caftill all aboutin Of all manir of minstralis And jeftours, that tellin talis Bothe of wepyng and eke of game, And all that longith unto Fame: There herde I playing on an harpe, That yfounid bothe well and fharpe, Hym Orpheus full craftily, And on this othir fide fast by
Yfatte the harpir Orion, And Gacides Chirion,
And othir harpirs many one, And the Briton Glafkirion, And fmalè harpirs with ther glees Satte undir 'hem in divers fees, And gone on 'hem upwarde to gape, And counterfaited 'hem as an ape, Or as Crafte counterfeitith Kinde.
Tho fawe I ftandin 'hem behinde,
Afarre from 'hem, all by 'hem felve,
Many a thousande tymis twelve, That madin loudè minftralfies In cornmuse and eke in fhalmies, And in many an othir pipe, That craftily began to pipe
Bothe in douced and eke in rede,
That ben at feftis with the brede,
And many' a floite and litlyng horne,
And pipis made of grenè corne, As have thefe little herdègromes That kepin beftis in the bromes. There fawe I then Dan Citherus,
And of Athenes Dan Proferus, And Mercia, that lofte her fkinne
Bothe in the face, bodie, and chinne, For that she would envyin, lo!
To pipin bette than Apollo.
There fawe I famous old and yong Pipiris of all the Duche tong, To lernin love dauncis springis, Reyis, and the ftraungè thingis.
Tho fawe I in an othir place, Yftandyng in a largè space, Of 'hem that makin blodie foun In trumpè, beme, and clarioun, For in fight and in blodefhedynges Is ufid glad clarionynges.
There herde I trumpin Meffenus, Of whom that spekith Virgilius. There herd I Joab trumpe also, Theodomas, and othir mo, And all that ufid clarion
In Cafteloigne and Aragon, That in ther tymis famous were, To lernin fawe I trumpin there. There fawe I fit in othir fees, Playing on othir fondrie glees, Whiche that I can not now nevin, Mo then fterris ben in hevin,
Of whiche I n'ill as now not rime For efe of you and loffe of time, For Tyme iloft, this knowin ye, By no waie maie recovered be.
There fawe I playing jogèlours, Magiciens and tragètours, And Phetoniffis, charmereffis, And olde witchis and forcereffis,
And clerkis eke which connin well
All this magike hight Naturell,
That craftily doe ther ententes To maken in certain afcendentes... Imagis, lo! through whiche magike To maken a man ben whole or fike.
There fawe I the Quene Medea, And Circe and Caliophia.
There fawe I Hermes Ballenus, Limote, and eke Symon Magus.
There fawe I, and yknewe by name,
That by foche arte doen men have fame.
There fawe leke Coll Tragètour
Upon a table' of ficamour
Flayin an uncouth thyng to tell; I fawe hym cary a windemell Undir a walnote fhale.
What should I makin lengir tale? Of all the peple that I fey
I could not tell till dom'ifdey.
When I had all this folke beholde, And founde me loce and not yholde, And I amufid a longe while Upon this wall all of berile, That fhone lightir then any glas, And made well more then it ywas, As it kindely thing of Fame is, And then right anone aftir this
forthe romin till I fonde The caftill yate on my right honde, Whiche all fo well ycorvin was That nevir foche an othir n'as, And yet it was by avinture Iwrought by grete and fubtill cure;
It nedith not you more to tellen, To makin you to long to dwellen, Of these ilke yatis florishynges, Ne of compacis ne karvynges,
Ne the hackyng in mafonries, As corbettis and imageries.
But Lorde, fo faire it was to fhewe! For it was all with golde behewe;
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