Come and sete on ich a brere,
To here his harping afine,
So miche melody was þerin;
And when he his harping lete wold,
No best bi him abide nold. 280
He miȝt se him bisides
Oft in hot vndertides
Þe king o fairy wiþ his rout
Com to hunt him al about,
Wiþ dim cri and bloweing; 285