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Withoutin pecis or joynynges,
But many subtill compassynges,
As barbicans and pinnacles,
Imageries and tabernacles,
I sawe, and full eke of windowes,
As flakis fallin in grete fnowes,
And eke in eche of the pinacles
Ywerin sondrie habitacles,
In whiche ftodin all withontin
Full the castill all aboutin
Of all manir of minftralis
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 sharpe,
Hym Orpheus full craftily,
And on this othir fide fast by
Ysatte the harpir Orion,
And Gacides Chirion,
And othir harpirs many one,
And the Briton Glaskirion,
And smalè harpirs with ther glees
Satte vndir 'hem in divers fees,
And gone on 'hem upwarde to gape,
And counterfaited 'hem as an ape,
Or as Crafte counterfeitith Kinde.

Tho sawe I standin 'hem behinde,




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Afarre from 'hem, all by 'hem selve,
Many a thousande tymis twelve,
That madin loudè minstrallies
In cornmuse and eke in shalmies,
And in many an othir pipe,
That craftily began to pipe
Bothe in douced and eke in rede,
That ben at feslis with the brede,
And many' a floite and litlyng horne,
And pipis made of grenè corne,
As have these little herdègromes
That kepin bestis in the bromes.

There fawe I then Dan Citherus,
And of Athenes Dan Proserus,
And Mercia, that lofte her finne
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 straungè thingis.

Tho sawe I in an othir place,
Yftandyng in a large space,
Of 'hem that makin blodie soun
In trumpè, beme, and clarioun,
For in fight and in blodeshedynges
Is usid 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 usid clarion
In Casteloigne and Aragon,
That in ther tymis famous were,
To lernin fawe I trumpin there.

There sawe I sit in othir sees,
Playing on othir sondrie glees,
Whiche that I can not now nevin,
Mo then sterris ben in hevin,
Of whiche I n'ill as now not rime
For ese of you and losse of time,
For Tyme ilost, this knowin ye,
By no waie maie recovered be.

There fawe I playing jogèlours,
Magiciens and tragètours,
And Phetonisfis, charmerellis,
And olde witchis and sorcereflis,
That usen exorfifacions
And eke fubfumigacions,
And clerkis eke which connin well
All this magike hight Naturell,
That craftily doe ther ententes
To maken in certain ascendentes.
Imagis, lo! through whiche magike
To maken a man ben whole or fike.






There sawe I the Quene Medea, And Circe and Caliophia.

There sawe I Hermes Ballenus, Limote, and eke Symon Magus.

There fawe I, and yknewe by name,
That by soche arte doen men have fame.

There sawe leke Coll Tragètour
Upon a table' of ficamour
Flayin an uncouth thyng to tell;
I sawe hym cary a windemell
Undir a walnote shale.

What should I makin lengir tale?
Of all the peple that I sey
I could not tell till dom'isdey.

When I had all this folke beholde,
And founde me loce and not yholde,
And I amusid a longe while
Upon this wall all of berile,
That shone lightir' then any glas,
And made well more then it was,
As it kindely thing of Fame is,
And then right anone aftir chis
I gan forthe romin till I fonde
The castill yate on my right honde,
Whiche all fo well ycorvin was
That nevir soche an othir n'as,
And yet it was by avinture
Iwrought by grete and subtill 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 masonries,
As corbettis and imageries.

But Lorde, fo faire it was to fhewe!
For it was all with golde behewe;
But in I went, and that anone:
There met I crying many one,
A larges, larges! holde up well;.
God save the ladie of this pell,
Our ownè gentill Ladie Fame,
And 'hem that willen to have a namę
Of us! Thus heard I cryin all,
And fast comin out of the hall
And shoke noblis and starlyngis,
And corounid were as kyngis
With crounis wrought full of lofynges,
And many ribans many fringes .
Were on ther clothis truily.

Tho at the last efpyid I
That pursevauntes and heraudis

That cryin riche folkis laudis,
It werin all; and every man
Of ’hem, as I you tellin can,
Had on him throwin a vesture
Whiche men yclepe a cote armure,




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