As a gret ost bi him te,
Well atourued ten hundred knightes,
Ich y-armed to his rightes,
Of cuntenance stout and fers,
With mani desplaid baners;
And ich his sword y-drawe hold,
Ac never he nist whider thai wold.
And otherwhile he seighe other thing;
Knightis and lenedis com daunceing,
In queynt atire gisely,
Queyete pas and softlie:
Tabours and trumpes gede hem bi,
And al mauer menstraci.--
And on a day he seighe him biside,
Sexti leuedis on hors ride,
Gentil and jolif as brid on ris;
Nought o man amonges hem ther nis;
And ich a faucoun on bond bere,
And riden on hauken bi o river.
Of game thai found wel gode haunt,
Maulardes, hayroun, and cormoraunt;
The foules of the water ariseth,
Ich faucoun hem wele deviseth,
Ich fancoun his pray slough,
That seize Orfeo and lough.
"Par fay," quoth he, "there is fair game,
"Hider Ichil bi Godes name,
"Ich was y won swich work to se:"
He aros, and thider gan te;
To a leuedie hi was y-come,
Bihelde, and hath wel under nome,
And seth, bi al thing, that is
His owen quen, dam Heurodis;
Gern hi biheld her, and sche him eke,
Ac nouther to other a word no speke:
For messais that sche on him seighe,
That had ben so riche and so heighe,
The teres fel out of her eighe;
The other leuedis this y seighe,
And maked hir oway to ride,
Sche most with him no longer obide.
"Allas!" quoth he, "nowe is mi woe,
"Whi nil deth now me slo;
"Allas! to long last mi liif,
"When y no dare nought with mi wif,
"Nor hye to me o word speke;
"Allas whi nil miin hert breke!
"Par fay," quoth he, "tide what betide,
"Whider so this leuedis ride,
"The selve way Ichil streche;
"Of liif, no dethe, me no reche.

In consequence, therefore, of this discovery _Orfeo_ pursues the hawking
damsels, among whom he has descried his lost queen. They enter a rock,
the king continues the pursuit, and arrives at Fairy-Land, of which the
following very poetical description is given:

In at roche the leuedis rideth,
And he after and nought abideth;
When he was in the roche y-go,
Wele thre mile other mo,
He com into a fair cuntray,
As bright soonne somers day,
Smothe and plain and al grene,
Hill no dale nas none ysene,
Amiddle the loud a castel he seighe,
Rich and reale and wonder heighe;
Al the utmast wal
Was cler and schine of cristal;
An hundred tours ther were about,
Degisel