Ere the first cock his matin rings.
[Thus done the tales], to bed they creep, 115
By whispering winds soon lulled asleep.
[Towered cities please us then],
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold,
[In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold], 120
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
[Rain influence], and judge the prize
Of wit or arms, while both contend