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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,

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Afarre from 'hem, all by 'hem felve,

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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

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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,

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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.

Volume XIII.

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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,

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That ufen exorfifacions

And eke fubfumigacions,

And clerkis eke which connin well

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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.

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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

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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;

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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.

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But Lorde, fo faire it was to fhewe! For it was all with golde behewe;

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