As thik as motis in the sonne-beem,
Blesynge halles, chambres, kichenes, and boures,
Citees and burghes, castels hihe, and toures,
Thropes and bernes, shepnes and dayeries,
This makith that ther ben no fayeries:
For ther as wont was to walken an elf,
Ther walkith noon but the lymytour himself,
In undermeles and in morwenynges,
And saith his matyns and his holy thinges,
As he goth in his lymytacioun.