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Out of hir sight: ye get no more of me;
But thus I lete, in lust and jolitee,
This Cambuscan his lordes festeying,
Til that wel nigh the day began to spring.

PARS SECUNDA.

The norice of digestion, the slepe,
Gan on hem winke, and bad hem taken kepe
That mochel drinke and labour wol have rest,
And with a galping mouth hem all he kest,
And said that it was time to lie adoun,
For blood was in his dominatioun:
Cherisheth blood, nature's frend, quod he.

They thanken him galping, by two, by three;
And every wight gan drawe him to his rest,
As slepe him bade; they take it for the best.
Hir dremes shul not now be told for me;
Ful were hir hedes of fumositee,

That causeth dreme, of which ther is no charge:
They slepen, til that it was prime large,
The moste parte, but it were Canace;
She was ful mesurable as women be.

For of hire father had she taken hire leve
To gon to rest, sone after it was eve;
Hire liste not appalled for to be,
Nor on the morwe unfestliche for to see,
And slept hire firste slepe and than awoke.
For swiche a joy she in her herte toke
Both of hire queinte ring, and of hire mirrour,
That twenty time she chaunged hire colour;
And in hire slepe right for the impression
Of hire mirrour she had a vision;-
Wherfore, or that the sonne gan up glide,
She clepeth upon hire maistrosse hire beside,
And saide that hire luste for to arise.

Thise olde women that ben gladly wise,
As is hire maistresse, answerd hire anon;
And said: "Madani! whider wol ye gon
Thus erly? for the folk ben all in rest.'

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"I wol," quod she, "arisen (for me lest
No longer for to slepe) and walken aboute."
Hire maistresse clepeth women a gret route,
And up they risen, wel a ten or twelve;
Up riseth freshe Canace hireselve,

As rody and bright, as the yonge sonne,
That in the Ram is four degrees yronne;
No higher was he whan she redy was:
And forth she walketh esily a pas,
Arrayed after the lusty seson sote
Lightely for to playe, and walken on fote,
Nought but with five or sixe of hire meinie;
And in a trenche forth in the park goth she.

The vapour, which that fro the erthe glode,
Maketh the sonne to seme rody and brode:
But, natheles, it was so faire a sight,
That it made all hir hertes for to light,
What for the seson and the morwening,
And for the foules that she herd sing.
For, right anon, she wiste what they ment
Right by hir song, and knew all hir entent.
The knotte why that every tale is tolde
If it be taried til the lust be colde
Of hem, that han it herkened after yore,
The savour passeth, ever lenger the more,
For fulsomnesse of the prolixitee;
And, by that same reson, thinketh me

I shuld unto the knotte condescende,
And maken of hire walking sone an ende.

Amidde a tree for-dry, as white as chalk,
As Canace was playing in hire walk,
Ther sat a faucon over hir hed ful hie,
That with a pitous vois so gan to crie,
That all the wood resouned of hire cry,-
And beten had hireself so pitously
With both hire winges, til the rede blood
Ran endelong the tree ther as she stood;
And, ever in on, alway she cried and shright;
And with hire bek hireselven she so twight;
That ther n'is tigre, ne no cruel best,
That dwelleth other in wood, or in forest,
That n'olde han wept, if that he wepen coude,
For sorwe of hire, she shright alway so loude.

For ther was never yet no man on live,
If that he coude a faucon wel descrive,
That herd of swiche another, of fayrenesse
As wel of plumage as of gentilesse,
Of shape; of all that might yrekened be.
A faucon peregrine semed she

Of fremde londe; and, ever, as she stood,
She swouned, now and now, for lack of blood,
Til wel neigh is she fallen fro the tree.

This faire kinges daughter Canace,
That on hire finger bare the queinte ring,
Thurgh which she understood wel every thing
That any foule may in his leden sain,

And coude answere him in his leden again,
Hath understonden what this faucon seyd,
And wel neigh, for the routhe, almost she deyd;
And to the tree she goth ful hastily,
And on this faucon loketh pitously,
And held hire lap abrode; for wel she wist
The faucon muste fallen from the twist
Whan that she swouned next, for faute of blood.
A longe while to waiten hire she stode.
Til at the last she spake in this manere
Unto the hauk, as ye shul after here.

"What is the cause if it be for to tell,
That ye ben in this furial peine of hell ?"
Quod Canace unto this hauk above:
"Is this for sorwe of deth, or losse of love?
For as I trow, thise be the causes two,
That causen most a gentil herte wo.
Of other harme it nedeth not to speke,
For ye yourself upon yourself awreke,
Which preveth wel that other ire or drede
Mote ben enchesen of your cruel dede,
Sin that I se non other wight you chace.
For the love of God, as doth yourselven grace;
Or what may be your helpe? for west ne est,
Ne saw I never, er now, no brid ne best,
That ferde with himself so pitously.
Ye sle me with your sorwe veraily,
I have of you so gret compassioun.

For Goddes love, come fro the tree adoun,
And as I am a kinges daughter trewe,
If that I veraily the causes knewe
Of your disese, if it lay in my might
I wold amend it, or that it were night,
As wisly help me the gret God of kind.
And herbes shal I, right ynough, yfind,
To helen with your hurtes, hastily."

Tho shright this faucon yet more pitously

Than ever she did, and fell to ground, anon,
And lithe aswoune, as ded as lith a ston,
Til Canace hath in hire lappe hire take
Unto that time she gan of swoune awake;
And after that she out of swoune abraide,
Right, in hire haukes leden, thus she sayde:
"That pitee renneth sone in gentil herte,
(Feling his similitude in peines smerte,)
Is proved alle day, as men may see
As wel by werke as by auctoritee,
For gentil herte kitheth gentilesse.
I se wel that ye have on my distresse
Compassion, my faire Canace!
Of veray womanly benignitee,
That Nature in your principles hath set.
But, for non hope for to fare the bet,
But, for to obey unto your herte free,
And for to maken other yware by me,
As by the whelpe chastised is the leon,
Right for that cause and that conclusion,
While that I have a leiser and a space,
Min harme I wol confessen er I pace.'
And, ever, while that on hire sorwe told,
That other wept, as she to water wold,
Til that the faucon bad hire to be still;
And, with a sike, right thus she said hire till:
"Ther I was bred, (alas that ilke day!)
And fostred in a rocke of marble gray,
So tendrely, that nothing ailed me,
I ne wist not what was adversitee,

Til I coud flee ful high under the skie. "Tho dwelled a tercelet me faste by, That semed welle of alle gentilesse, Al were he ful of treson and falsenesse. It was so wrapped under humble chere, And under hew of trouth in swiche manere, Under plesance, and under besy peine, That no wight coud have wend he coude feine; So depe in greyn he died his coloures, Right as a serpent hideth him under floures, Til he may see his time for to bite; Right so, this god of loves hypocrite Doth so his ceremonies and obeisance, And kepeth in semblaunt alle his observance, That souneth unto gentillesse of love. As on a tombe is all the faire above, And under is the corps, swiche as ye wote, Swiche was this hypocrite both cold and hote, And in this wise he served his entent, That, save the fend, non wiste what he ment; Till he so long had weped and complained, And many a yere his service to me fained, Til that min herte, to pitous and to nice, Al innocent of his crowned malice, For-fered of his deth, as thoughte me,— Upon his othes, and his seuretee, Graunted him love on this conditioun, That evermo min honour and renoun W'ere saved, both privee and apert; This is to say, that after his desert, I gave him all min herte and all my thought, God wote, and in none other wise nought; And toke his herte in chaunge of min, for ay. But soth is said, gon sithen is many a day, A trewe wight, and a theef, thinken not on.

And whan he saw the thing so fer ygon,

That I had granted him fully my love,
In swiche a guise, as I have said above,
And yeven him my trewe herte as free
As he swore that he yaf his herte to me;
Anon this tigre, ful of doublenesse,
Fell on his knees, with so gret humblesse,
With so high reverence, as by his chere,
So like a gentil lover of manere,
So ravished, as it semed, for the joye,
That never Jason ne Paris of Troye,
Jason! certes, ne never other man
Sin Lamech was, that alderfirst began
To loven two, as writen folk beforne;
Ne never, sithen the first man was borne,
Ne coude man by twenty thousand part
Contrefete the sophimes of his art;

Ne were worthy to unbocle his galoche,
Ther doublenesse of faining shuld approche,
Ne coude so thanke a wight, as he did me,
His maner was an heven for to see

Το

any woman, were she never so wise,
So painted he, and kempt at point devise,
As wel his wordes, as his contenance:
And I so loved him for his obeisance,
And for the trouthe I demed in his herte,
That if so were that any thing him smerte,
Al were it never so lite, and I it wist,
Me thought I felt deth at myn herte twist.
And, shortly, so ferforth this thing is went,
That my will was his willes instrument;
This is to say, my will obeid his will
In alle thing, as fer as reson fill,
Keping the boundes of my worship ever:
Ne never had I thing so lefe, ne lever,
As him, God wot, ne never shal no mo.

"This lasteth lenger than a yere or two,
That I supposed of him nought but good;
But finally, thus at the last it stood,
That Fortune wolde that he muste twin
Out of that place, which that I was in.
Wher me was wo, it is no question;
I cannot make of it description.
For o thing dare I tellen boldely,

I know what is the peine of deth therby;
Swiche harme I felt, for he ne might byleve.

"So on a day of me he toke his leve,
So sorweful eke, that I wend veraily,
That he had felt as mochel harme as I,
Whan that I herd him speke and sawe his hewe:
But, nathelesse, I thought he was so trewe,
And eke that he repairen shuld again,
Within a litel while, soth to sain,-
And reson wold, eke, that he muste go
For his honour, as often happeth so,-
That I made vertue of necessitee,
And toke it wel, sin that it muste be.
As I best might I hid from him my sorwe,
And toke him by the hand, Seint John to borwe,
And said him thus: Lo, I am youres all
Both swiche as I have ben to you and shall.'

"What he answerd, it nedeth not reherse; Who can Say bet than he? who can Do werse? Whan he hath al well said, than hath he done. Therfore, behoveth him a full long spone That shal ete with a fend; thus herd I say. "So at the last, he muste forth his way;

THE PRIORESSES TALE.

And forth he fleeth, til he com ther him lest.
Whan it came him to purpos for to rest,
I trow that he had thilke text in mind,
That alle thing repairing to his kind
Gladeth himself; thus sain men, as I gesse:
Men loven of propre kind newefangelnesse,
As briddes don, that men in cages fede.

For though thou night and day take of hem hede,
And strew hir cage faire and soft as silke,
And give hem sugre, hony, bred, and milke,—
Yet, right anon as that his dore is up,

He with his feet wol spurnen doun his cup,
And to the wood he wol, and wormes ete;
So newefangel ben they of hir mete,
And loven noveltees of propre kind;
No gentillesse of blood ne may hem bind.

"So ferd this tercelet, alas the day!

Though he were gentil borne, and fresh, and gay,
And goodly for to seen, and humble, and free.
He sawe upon a time a kite flee;
And, sodenly, he loved this kite so
That all his love is clene from me ago;
And hath his trouthe falsed in this wise,
Thus hath the kite my love in her service,
And I am lorn withouten remedy."

And with that word this faucon gan to cry,
And swouneth eft in Canacees barme.
Gret was the sorwe for that haukes harme,
That Canace and all hire women made;
They n'isten how they might the faucon glade.
But Canace home bereth hire in hire lap,
And softely in plastres gan hire wrap,
Ther as she with hire bek had hurt hireselve.
Now cannot Canace but herbes delve
Out of the ground; and maken salves newe
Of herbes precious and fine of hewe;
To helen with this hauk, fro day to night
She doth hire besinesse and all hire might.
And by hire beddes hed, she made a mew,
And covered it with velouettes blew,
In signe of trouthe that is in woman scne;
And, all without, the mew is peinted grene,
In which were peinted all thise false foules,
As ben thise tidifes, tercelettes, and owles;
And pies, on hem for to cry and chide,
Right for despit, were peinted hem beside.

Thus lete I Canace hire hauk keping.
I wol no more, as now, speke of hire ring,
Til it come eft to purpos for to sain,
How that this faucon gat hire love again
Repentant, as the story telleth us,
By mediation of Camballus,

The kinges sone, of which that I you told.
But hennesforth I wol my processe hold
To speke of aventures, and of batailles,
That yet was never herd so gret mervailles.
First, wol I tellen you of Cambuscan,
That in his time many a citee wan:—
And, after, wol I speke of Algarsif,
How that he wan Theodora to his wif;
For whom ful oft in gret peril he was,
Ne had he ben holpen by the hors of bras :-
And after wol I speke of Camballo,

That fought in listes, with the brethren two
For Canace er that he might hire winne;
And ther I left, I wol again beginne.

The rest is wanting.

"O LORD our Lord! thy name how merveillous Is in this large world yspread!" (quod she) "For, not al only, thy laude precious Parfourmed is by men of dignitee;

But by the mouth of children thy bountee
Parfourmed is, for on the brest souking
Somtime shewen they thin herying.

"Wherfore in laude, as I can best and may,
Of thee and of the white lily flour
Which that thee bare, and is a maide alway,-
To tell a storie I wol do my labour;
Not that I may encresen hire honour,
For she, hireselven, is honour and rote

Of bountee, next hire sone; and soules bote.
"O mother maide! O maide and mother fre!
O bushe unbrent! brenning in Moyses sight,
That ravishedst doun fro the deitee,

Thurgh thin humblesse, the gost that in thee alight:
Of whos vertue, whan he thin herte light,
Conceived was the fathers sapience;
Helpe me to tell it in thy reverence.

"Lady! thy bountee, thy magnificence,
Thy vertue, and thy gret humilitee,
Ther may no tonge expresse in no science;
For somtime, Lady! or men pray to thee,
Thou gost beforn of thy benignitee,
And getest us the light of thy prayere,
To giden us unto thy sone so dere.

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My conning is so weke, O blissful Quene!
For to declare thy grete worthinesse,
That I ne may the weighte not sustene;
But as a child of twelf moneth old or lesse,
That can unnethes any word expresse,
Right so fare I; and, therfore, I you pray
Gideth my song that I shal of you say."

Ther was in Asie, in a gret citce,
Amonges Cristen folk a Jewerie,
Sustened by a lord (of that countree)
For foul usure and lucre of vilanie,
Hateful to Crist and to his compagnie,—
And thurgh the strete men mighten ride and wende,
For it was free, and open at eyther ende.

A litel scole of Cristen folk there stood
Doun at the ferther end, in which ther were
Children an hepe, comen of Cristen blood,
That lerned in that scole yere by yere
Swiche manere doctrine as men used there;
This is to say, to singen and to rede,
As smale children don in hir childhede.
Among thise children was a widewes sone,
A litel clergion, sevene yere of age,
That day by day to scole was his wone;
And, eke also, wheras he sey the image
Of Cristes moder, had he in usage,

As him was taught, to knele adoun, and say
Ave Maric as he goth by the way.

Thus hath this widewe hire litel sone ytaught
Our blissful Lady, Cristes moder dere,
To worship ay; and he forgate it nought;
For sely childe wol alway sone lere.
But, ay, whan I remembre on this matere,
Saint Nicholas stant ever in my presence,
For he so yong to Crist did reverence.

This litel childe his litel book lerning,
As he sate in the scole at his primere,
He Alma Redemptoris herde sing
As children lered hir antiphonere:

And as he dorst, he drew him nere and nere,
And herkened, ay, the wordes and the note,
Til he the firste vers coude al by rote.

Nought wist he what this Latin was to say, For he so yonge and tendre was of age; But on a day his felaw gan he pray To expounden him this song in his langage, Or telle him why this song was in usage: This prayde he him to construe and declare, Ful often time upon his knees bare.

His felaw, which that elder was than he,
Answer'd him thus: "This song, I have herd say,
Was maked of our blissful Lady fre,
Hire to salue, and eke hire for to pray
To ben our help, and socour, whan we dey.
I can no more expound in this matere;
I lerne song; I can but smal gramere."

"And is this song maked in reverence
Of Cristes moder?" said this innocent;
"Now, certes, I wil don my diligence
To conne it all, or Cristemasse be went,
Though that I for my primer shal be shent,
And shal be beten thries in an houre.
I wol it conne our Ladie for to honoure."
His felaw taught him homeward, prively,
Fro day to day, til he coude it by rote,
And than he song it, wel and boldely,
Fro word to word according with the note:
Twies a day it passed thurgh his throte,
To scoleward and homeward whan he wente:
On Cristes moder set was his entente.

As I have said, thurghout the Jewerie
This litel child, as he came to and fro,
Ful merily than wold he sing and crie,
O Alma Redemptoris!' ever mo.
The swetenesse hath his herte persed so
Of Cristes moder; that to hire to pray,
He cannot stint of singing by the way.

Our firste fo, the serpent Sathanas,
That hath in Jewes herte his waspes nest,
Up swale and said; "O Ebraike peple, alas!
Is this to you a thing that is honest,
That swiche a boy shal walken as him leste
In your despit, and sing of swiche sentence,
Which is again our lawes reverence?"

From thennesforth the Jewes han conspired,
This innocent out of this world to chace:
An homicide therto han they hired,
That in an aleye had a privee place;
And as the child gan forthby for to pace,
This cursed Jew him hent and held him fast,
And cut his throte, and in a pit him cast.

I say that in a wardrope they him threwe,
Wher as thise Jewes purgen hir entraille.
O cursed folk of Herodes alle-newe,
What may your evil entente you availle?
Mordre wol out; certein it wol not faille;

And namely, ther, the honour of God shal sprede;
The blood out crieth on your cursed dede.
O martyr souded in virginitee!
Now maist thou singe and folwen, ever in on,
The white Lamb celestial, quod she,

Of which the gret evangelist Seint John
In Pathmos wrote,-which sayth that they that
Beforn this Lamb, and singe a song al newe,
That never fleshly woman they ne knewe.

This poure widewe awaiteth al that night
After hire litel childe, and he came nought;
For which as sone as it was dayes light,
With face pale of drede and besy thought,
She hath, at scole and elles wher, him sought,
Til finally she gan so fer aspie,

That he last seen was in the Jewerie.

With modres pitee in hire brest enclosed
She goth, as she were half out of hire minde,
To every place, wher she had supposed
By likelihed hire litel childe to find;

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And ever on Cristes moder meke and kinde
She cried; and, at the laste, thus, she wrought,—
Among the cursed Jewes she him sought.

She freyneth, and she praieth pitously
To every Jew that dwelled in thilke place,
To telle hire, if hire child went out forth by;
They sayden Nay; but Jesu, of his grace,
Yave in hire thought, within a litel space,
That in that place after hire sone she cride,
Ther he was casten in a pit beside.

O grete God, that parformest thy laude
By mouth of innocentes, lo here thy might!
This gem of chastitee, this emeraude,
And, eke, of martirdome the rubie bright,-
Ther he with throte ycorven lay upright,
He Alma Redemptoris gan to singe
So loude, that all the place gan to ringe.

The Cristen folk that thurgh the strete wente,
In comen, for to wondre upon this thing,
And hastifly they for the provost sente.
He came, anon, withouten tarying,
And herieth Crist, that is of heven king,
And, eke, his moder, honour of mankind;
And, after that, the Jewes let he binde.

This child with pitous lamentation
Was taken up, singing his song alway:
And with honour and gret procession,
They carien him unto the next abbey;
His moder, swouning, by the bere lay:
Unnethes might the peple that was there
This newe Rachel bringen fro his bere.

With turment, and with shameful dethe, eche on This provost doth thise Jewes for to sterve, That of his morder wiste; and that anon: He n'olde no swiche cursednesse observe: Evil shal he have, that evil wol deserve. Therfore, with wilde hors he did hem drawe; And, after that, he heng hem by the lawe. Upon his bere ay lith this innocent Beforn the auter while the masse last. And, after that, the abbot with his covent Han spedde hem for to berie him ful fast; And whan they holy water on him cast,

Yet spake this child, whan spreint was the holy

water,

And sang O Alma Redemptoris Mater!

This abbot, which that was an holy man, As monkes ben, or elles ought to be, This yonge child to conjure he began, And said; "O dere child! I halse thee, In vertue of the Holy Trinitee,

Tell me what is thy cause for to sing,
Sith that thy throte is cut to my seming ?"
"My throte is cut unto my nekke bon;"
Saide this child; "and as, by way of kinde,
I shuld have deyd, ye longe time agon:
But Jesu Crist, as ye in bookes finde,
Wol that his glory last and be in minde;
And for the worship of his moder dere,
Yet may I sing 0 Alma loude and clere.

"This welle of mercie, Cristes moder swete,
I loved alway, as after my conning;
And whan that I my life shulde forlete,
To me she came, and bad me for to sing
This antem veraily in my dying,

As ye han herde; and, whan that I had songe,
Me thought she laid a grain upon my tonge.
"Wherfore I sing; and sing I mote, certain,
In honour of that blissful maiden free,
Til fro my tonge of taken is the grain,
And, after that, thus saide she to me:
"My litel childe, than wol I fetchen thee,
Whan that the grain is fro thy tong ytake:
Be not agaste, I wol thee not forsake."

This holy monk, this abbot him mene I,
His tonge out caught, and toke away the grain;
And he yave up the gost ful softely.
And whan this abbot had this wonder sein,
His salte teres trilled adoun as reyne:
And groff he fell, al platte upon the ground;
And still he lay, as he had ben ybound.

The covent lay, cke, upon the pavement, Weping, and herying Cristes moder dere. And, after that, they risen, and forth ben went And toke away this martir fro his bere; And in a tombe of marble stones clere Enclosed they his litel body swete. Ther he is now, God lene us for to mete. O yonge Hew of Lincoln! slain also With cursed Jewes, as it is notable, For it n'is but a litel while ago,Pray eke for us, we sinful folk unstable, That of his mercy God so merciable On us his grete mercie multiplie For reverence of his moder Marie.

THE FLOURE AND THE LEAFE.
WHEN that Phoebus his chair of gold so hie
Had whirled up the sterrie sky aloft,
And in the Bole was entred certainly;
When shoures sote of raine descended soft,
Causing the ground, fele times and oft,
Up for to give many an wholesome air;
And every plain was yclothed faire

With newe grene; and maketh smale flours
To springen here and there in field and mede,-
So very gode and wholesom be the shoures,
That they renewen that was old and dede
In winter time; and out of every sede
Springeth the herbe; so that every wight
Of this seson wexeth right glad and light.

And I so glade of the seson swete ;
Was happid thus: Upon a certain night
As I lay in my bed, slepe full unmete

Was unto me, but why that I ne might Rest, I ne wist; for there n'as erthly wight (As I suppose) had more of hertes ese Than I, for I n'ad sicknesse nor disese;

Wherefore I mervaile gretly of my self,
That I so long withouten slepe lay,-
And up I rose thre houres after twelfe,
About the springing of the gladsome day,
And on I put my gear, and mine array,
And to a pleasaunt grove I gan to pas,
Long or the bright sonne uprisen was,

In which were okes grete, streight as a line,
Under the which the grass, so freshe of hew,
Was newly sprong; and, an eight foot or nine,
Every tre well fro his fellow grew,

With braunches brode, laden with leves new,
That sprangen out agen the sonne shene,—
Some very rede, and some a glad light grene.

Which (as me thought) was a right pleasaunt sight;
And eke the birdes songes for to here,
Would have rejoiced any erthly wight,
And I, that couth not yet in no manere
Heare the nightingale of all the yere,
Full busily herkned, with hert and ere,
If I her voice perceve coud any where.

And, at the last, a path of litel brede,
I found, that gretly had not used be;
For it forgrowen was with gras and wede,
That well unnethes a wight might it se;
Thought I, this path some whider goth, parde;
And so I followed, till it me brought
To a right pleasaunt herber wel ywrought,

Which that benched was, and with turfes new
Freshly turved; whereof the grene gras,
So small, so thick, so short, so fresh of hew,
That most like to grene woll, wot I, it was.
The hegge also that yeden in compass,
And closed in alle the grene herbere
With sicamor was set, and eglatere

Wrethen in fere so well and cunningly,
That every braunch and lefe grew by mesure
Plain as a bord, of an height by and by;-
I se never a thing (I you ensure)

So well ydone; for he that toke the cure
It for to make, (I trowe) did all his peine
To make it pass all tho that men have seine.-

And shapen was this herber, rofe and all,
As is a pretty parlour; and also,
The hegge as thick as is a castel wall,
That who that list, without, to stand or go,
Thogh he wold all day pryen to and fro,
He should not se if there were any wight
Within or not; but one within, wel might

Perceve all tho that yeden there without
Into the field, that was, on every side,
Covered with corn and grass, that, out of doubt,
Tho one would seken all the worlde wide,
So rich a felde could not be espyde,

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