Þe butras com out of þe diche, Of rede gold y-arched riche; Þe vousour was anow<rn>ed al Of ich maner diuers animal. Wiþin þer wer wide wones 365 Al of precious stones. Þe werst piler on to biholde Was al of burnist gold. Al þat lond was euer liȝt, For when it schuld be þerk and niȝt, 370 Þe riche stones liȝt gonne, As briȝt as doþ at none þe sonne. No man may telle, no þenche in þouȝt, Þe riche werk þat þer was wrouȝt; Bi al þing him þink þat it is 375 Þe proude court of Paradis. In þis castel þe leuedis aliȝt; He wold in after, ȝif he miȝt. Orfeo knokkeþ atte gate, Þe porter was redi þerate, 380 And asked what he wold haue ydo. 'Parfay!' quaþ he, 'icham a minstrel, lo! To solas þi lord wiþ mi gle, Ȝif his swete wille be.' Þe porter vndede þe ȝate anon, 385 And lete him into þe castel gon. Þan he gan bihold about al, And seiȝe †ful† liggeand wiþin þe wal Of folk þat were þider ybrouȝt, And þouȝt dede, and nare nouȝt. 390 Sum stode wiþouten hade, And sum non armes nade, And sum þurch þe bodi hadde wounde, And sum lay wode, ybounde, And sum armed on hors sete, 395 And sum astrangled as þai ete, And sum were in water adreynt, And sum wiþ fire al forschreynt Wiues þer lay on childbedde, Sum ded, and sum awedde; 400 And wonder fele þer lay bisides, Riȝt as þai slepe her vndertides. Eche was þus in þis warld ynome, Wiþ fairi þider ycome. Þer he seiȝe his owhen wiif, 405 Dame Heurodis, his l_e_f liif, Slepe vnder an ympe-tre: Bi her cloþes he knewe þat it was he. And when he hadde bihold þis meruails alle, He went into þe kinges halle. 410 Þan seiȝe he þer a semly siȝt, A tabernacle blisseful and briȝt, Þerin her maister king sete, And her quen fair and swete. Her crounes, her cloþes, schine so briȝt, 415 Þat vnneþe bihold he hem miȝt. When he hadde biholden al þat þing, He kneled adoun bifor þe king. 'O lord,' he seyd, 'ȝif it þi wille were, Mi menstraci þou schust yhere.' 420 Þe king answerd: 'What man artow, Þat art hider ycomen now? Ich, no non þat is wiþ me, No sent neuer after þe; Seþþen þat ich here regni gan, 425 Y no fond neuer so folehardi man Þat hider to ous durst wende, Bot þat ichim wald ofsende.' 'Lord,' quaþ he, 'trowe ful wel, Y nam bot a pouer menstrel; 430 And, sir, it is þe maner of ous To seche mani a lordes hous;