‘Never was there a hall half so magnificent and stately as that of Castle Beaumont. Words cannot describe it; ’tis past mortal cunning to speak of it justly. Its walls were twice as high as the steeple of your parish church and its length was two good bowshots. It was hung round about with gorgeous tapestries, whereon were worked figures of men and horses and trees and palaces in fresh and lively colours; the oak-ribbed vault was coloured as an azure heaven in which burnt an infinite multitude of golden stars. The floor was carpeted with cloth of indigo and silver. ‘The tables, which ran down the hall from end to end, and the high table upon the Lord’s dais, shone with precious vessels of silver and gold, wrought cunningly in fantastic shapes, delicately chiselled and chased, and set with flaming rubies and whitest pearls. Left and right against the walls were sideboards laden with the remains of rich and delicate dishes, with cygnet, peacock, and venison, with pies, custards and jellies, and flanked with great tuns of beer and wine. ‘Never were men and women so richly arrayed as the guests that sat at board, each with the value of a fat manor to cover the dainty skin; some in cloth of tars, some in sendal, some in pall and some in corduroys, many-hued like the rainbow. Round their proud necks they wore chains of the purest gold; on their fingers sparkled precious stones worth a king’s ransom. Never, nay, not in the King’s hall royal, were gathered such pomp and prodigality, such wealth and such splendour. Lo, this world passeth away to nothingness and maketh haste unto its end, yet men still vainly boast themselves in the clothes that hide and the meat that feeds corruption, making themselves laughingstocks to God and His holy angels. ‘When the poor minstrel shambled into the hall, he was utterly abashed and so smitten with shame that his knees turned to water under him, and he was fain to bow his head to hide the tears which suddenly filled his eyes. A sea of many colours surged before him, with rows of flushed cruel faces of men, with here and there the sheen of a woman’s white shoulder. A great blare of trumpets went suddenly soaring up to the roof. He looked round pitifully like a lost child, starting this way and that like a hare caught in a net. The guests burst into a roar of laughter at the sight of him. ‘The Lord of Beaumont sat at the high table on the dais, with his wanton leman by his side. When he saw the minstrel he stared hard, then he laughed loudly with the rest. Then he brought his heavy fist down with a crash on the board to command silence. There was a sudden hush. ‘“Bring the Ragman here,” quoth he harshly. ‘The lady by his side laughed lightly in clear cold tones.