And with him Dares and Titus
Before, and eke he Lollius,
And Guido eke de Columpnis,
And Englishe Galfride eke iwis;
And eche of thefe, as I have joye,
Was bufie for to bere up Troye,
So hevie thereof was the fame,
That for to bere it was no game;
But yet I gan full well espie
Betwene 'hem was a little' envie;
One faied that Omer made lies
And feinyng in his poëtries,
And was to the Grekes favourable,
And therefore helde he it but fable.
Tho fawe I ftande on a pillere
That was of tinnid iron clere,
Him the Latine poete Virgile,
That hath bore up a longè while
The fame of pius Æneas.
For why this hall whereof I rede
Was woxe on height, and length, and brede,
That write of Rom'is mightie werkes,
That if I would ther namis tell
Tho all to long ymuft I dwell.
And nexte hym on a pillir stode
Of fulphure, liche as he were wode,
Dan Claudian, fothe for to tell,
That bare up all the fame of hell,
Of Pluto and of Proferpine,
That thei of write, and how thei height:
But while that I beheld this fight
I herde a noise approchin blive,
That fareth as bees doen in an hive
Ayenft ther tyme of out flying,
Right foche a manir murmuryng
For all the worlde it femid me.
That there come entryng into the' hall
A right grete companie withall,
And that of fondrie regions,
Of all kind of condicions
That dwell in yerthe undir the mone,
Bothe pore and riche: and al fo fone
As thei were come into the hall
Thei gan on kneis doune to fall
Before this ilkè noble quene,
And fayid, Graunt us, ladie fhene!
Eche of us of thy grace a bone.
And some of 'hem the grauntid fone,
And fome fhe warnid well and faire,
And fome the grauntid the contraire
Of ther afkyng all uttirlie;
But this I faie you truilie,
What that her grace was I ne wift,
For of thefe folke full well I wift
Thei haddin gode fame eche deferved,
Although thei were diverfly ferved,
Right as her fiftir Dame Fortune
Is wont to fervin in commune.
Now herkin how the gan to pare 'Hem that gan her of grace to praie,
And yet, lo! all this companie
Yfaidin fothe, and not a lie.
Madame, (thus fayid thei) we be
Folke whiche that here befechin the
That thou grauntin us now gode Fame,
And let our workiş have gode name;
In full recompenfacion
Of gode worke give us gode renoun.
I warne it you (quod she anone)
Ye gettin of me gode Fame none
By God, and therefore go your waie.
Alas, (quod thei) and welawaie!
'Tellith us what your cause maie be.
For that me lifte it not, (quod fhe.)
No wight fhall fpeke of you iwis
Ne gode ne harme, ne that ne this.
And with that worde fhe gan to call
Her meffengir that was in hall,
And bad that he should fast ygone,
Upon pain to be blinde anone,
For Æolus, the god of Winde,
In Thrace there ye fhall hym yfinde,
And bid hym bryng his clarioun
Bryng eke his othir clarioun,
That hight Sclaundir in every toune,
With whiche he wont is to diffame
'Hem that me lift and doe 'hem shame.
This meffengir gan fast to gone,
And founde where in a cave of stone,
In a countre which that hight Thrace,
This Bolus with hardè grace
Yhelde the windis in distreffe,
And gan 'hem undir hym to preffe,
That thei gone as the beris rore,
He bounde and preflid 'hem so fore.
This meffengir gan fast to crie,
Rife up (quod he) and fast the hie
Untill thou at my ladie be,
And take thy clarions eke with the,
And eke the man that Triton hete,
And there he ftode as ftill as ftone:
And here withall there came anone
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