He longed strange countries for to see;
But he was taen by a savage Moor,
Who handled him right cruellie;
For he viewed the fashions of that land;
Their way of worship viewed he;
But to Mahound, or Termagant,
Would Beichan never bend a knee.
So in every shoulder they’ve putten a bore;
In every bore they’ve putten a tree;
And they have made him trail the wine