The altitude all in my mynd I sought.
Sixe hundreth fote, as by my nomber thought;
Quadrant it was, and did here and sette
At every storme whan the wind was great.
Thus at the last I came into an hall,
Hanged with arres riche and precious,
And every window glased with cristall,
Lyke a place of plesure much solacious.
With knottes sixeangled, gay and glorious,
The rofe did hange, right high and pleasauntly,