It was holde to neih the fire,
And is molten al awey.
Ore ne say mès que dire,
Tout i va à Tripolay,
Hundred, chapitle, court, and shire,
Al hit goth a devel way.
Des plusages de la tere
Ore escotez un sarmoun,
Of iiij. wise-men that ther were,
Whi Engelond is brouht adoun.