Ogy. It is well remembryd. Whan he lokythe to the West, his mother is apõ his right hand, but whã he turnythe hym to the Este she is apon the lefte hand. But yet she dwellythe nat in that churche, for it is nat yet buyldyd all vpe, and the wynde runnythe thorow euery parte with open wyndowes & dowres, and also nat ferre of is the Occiane seye father of all wyndes.
Me. what doo yow tell me wher dothe she dwell thã?
Ogy. In ye same churche whiche I told you was nat all fynyshyd, ther is a lytle chapell seelyd ouer with wodde, on ether syde a lytle dore wher ye pylgrymes go thorow, ther is lytle light, but of ye taperes, with a fragrant smell.
Me. All these be mete for religyon.
Ogy. Ye Menedemus if you loke within you wyll say that it is a seate mete for sayntes, all thynges be so bright in gold, syluer, and precyous stones.
Me. You almost moue me to go thyther also.
Ogy. It shalnat repente you of your iornay.
Me. Spryngithe ther no holy oyle?
Ogy. I trowe you dote, that spryngythe nat but owt ofthe sepulchres of sayntes, as saynt Andrew, & saynt Katerê, owr lady was nat beried.
Me. I graût I sayd amysse, but tell on your tale.