Owned a houfe which emptye long yftood,
Full deeply fited in a derkning wood;
Murmring a fhallow brook runneth along,
Mong the round ftones it maken doleful fong.
Now there spreaden a rumour that everich night
The rooms yhaunted been by many a sprite;
The miller avoucheth, and all thereabout,
That they full oft' hearen the hellish rout;
Some faine they hear the jingling of chains,
And fome hath yheard the pfautries ftraines;
At midnight fome the heedlefs horfe ymeet,
And fome efpien a corse in a white fheet,
And oother things, faye, elfin, and elfe,
And fhapes that fear createn to itselfe.
Now it fo hapt, there was not ferre away,
Of grey Freers a fair and rich Abbaye,
Where liven a Freer ycleped Pere Thomas,
Who daren alone in derke through church-yerds pafs.
This Freer would lye in thilke house all night,
In hope he might efpyen a dreadful sprite.
He taketh candle, beades, and holy watere,
And legends eke of Saintes, and bookes of prayere.
He entereth the room, and looketh round about,
And hafpen the door, to hafpen the goblin out.
The candle hath he put close by the bed,
And in low tone his ave marye faid.
With water now befprinkled hath the floore,
And maken crofs on kev-hole of the doore.
Ne was there not a moufe-hole in thilke place,
But he ycroffed hath by God his grace: