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d see,
 That ther com entring in the halle
 A right gret company with-alle,
 And that of sondry regiouns,
 Of alleskinnes condiciouns, (440) 1530
 That dwelle in erthe under the mone,
 Pore and ryche. And also sone
 As they were come into the halle,
 They gonne doun on kneës falle
 Before this ilke noble quene, 1535
 And seyde, 'Graunte us, lady shene,
 Ech of us, of thy grace, a bone!'
 And somme of hem she graunted sone,
 And somme she werned wel and faire;
 And somme she graunted the contraire (450) 1540
 Of hir axing utterly.
 But thus I seye yow trewely,
 What hir cause was, I niste.
 For this folk, ful wel I wiste,
 They hadde good fame ech deserved, 1545
 Althogh they were diversly served;
 Right as hir suster, dame Fortune,
 Is wont to serven in comune.
 Now herkne how she gan to paye
 That gonne hir of hir grace praye; (460) 1550
 And yit, lo, al this companye
 Seyden sooth, and noght a lye.
 'Madame,' seyden they, 'we be
 Folk that heer besechen thee,
 That thou graunte us now good fame, 1555
 And lete our werkes han that name;
 In ful recompensacioun
 Of good werk, give us good renoun.'
 'I werne yow hit,' quod she anoon,
 'Ye gete of me good fame noon, (470) 1560
 By god! and therfor go your wey.'
 'Alas,' quod they, 'and welaway!
 Telle us, what may your cause be?'
 'For me list hit noght,' quod she;
 'No wight shal speke of yow, y-wis, 1565
 Good ne harm, ne that ne this.'
 And with that word she gan to calle
 Hir messanger, that was in halle,
 And bad that he shulde faste goon,
 Up peyne to be blind anoon, (480) 1570
 For Eolus, the god of winde;--
 'In Trace ther ye shul him finde,
 And bid him bringe his clarioun,
 That is ful dyvers of his soun,
 And hit is cleped Clere Laude, 1575
 With which he wont is to heraude
 Hem that me list y-preised be:
 And also bid him how that he
 Bringe his other clarioun,
 That highte Sclaundre in every toun, (490) 1580
 With which he wont is to diffame
 Hem that me list, and do hem shame.'
 This messanger gan faste goon,
 And found wher, in a cave of stoon,
 In a contree that highte Trace, 1585
 This Eolus, with harde grace,
 Held the windes in distresse,
 And gan hem under him to presse,
 That they gonne as beres rore,
 He bond and pressed hem so sore. (500) 1590
 This messanger gan faste crye,
 'Rys up,' quod he, 'and faste hye,
 Til that thou at my lady be;
 And tak thy clarions eek with thee,
 And speed thee forth.' And he anon 1595
 Took to a man, that hight Triton,
 His clariouns to bere tho,
 And leet a certeyn wind to go,
 That blew so hidously and hye,
 That hit ne lefte not a skye (510) 1600
 In al the welken longe and brood.
 This Eolus no-wher abood
 Til he was come at Fames feet,
 And eek the man that Triton heet;
 And ther he stood, as still as stoon. 1605
 And her-withal ther com anoon
 Another huge companye
 Of gode folk, and gunne crye,
 'Lady, graunte us now good fame,
 And lat our werkes han that name (520) 1610
 Now, in honour of gentilesse,
 And also god your soule blesse!
 For we han wel deserved hit,
 Therfor is right that we ben quit.'
 'As thryve I,' quod she, 'ye shal faile, 1615
 Good werkes shal yow noght availe
 To have of me good fame as now.
 But wite ye what? I graunte yow,
 That ye shal have a shrewed fame
 And wikked loos, and worse name, (530) 1620
 Though ye good loos have wel deserved.
 Now go your wey, for ye be served;
 And thou, dan Eolus, let see!
 Tak forth thy trumpe anon,' quod she,
 'That is y-cleped Sclaunder light, 1625
 And blow hir loos, that every wight
 Speke of hem harm and shrewednesse,
 In stede of good and worthinesse.
 For thou shalt trumpe al the contraire
 Of that they han don wel or faire.' (540) 1630
 'Alas,' thoughte I, 'what aventures
 Han these sory creatures!
 For they, amonges al the pres,
 Shul thus be shamed gilteles!
 But what! hit moste nedes be.' 1635
 What did this Eolus, but he
 Tok out his blakke trumpe of bras,
 That fouler than the devil was,
 And gan this trumpe for to blowe,
 As al the world shulde overthrowe; (550) 1640
 That through-out every regioun
 Wente this foule trumpes soun,
 As swift as pelet out of gonne,
 Whan fyr is in the poudre ronne.
 And swiche a smoke gan out-wende 1645
 Out of his foule trumpes ende,
 Blak, blo, grenish, swartish reed,
 As doth wher that men melte leed,
 Lo, al on high fro the tuel!
 And therto oo thing saugh I wel, (560) 1650
 That, the ferther that hit ran,
 The gretter wexen hit began,
 As doth the river from a welle,
 And hit stank as the pit of helle.
 Alas, thus was hir shame y-ronge, 1655
 And giltelees, on every tonge.
 Tho com the thridde companye,
 And gunne up to the dees to hye,
 And doun on knees they fille anon,
 And seyde, 'We ben everichon (570) 1660
 Folk that han ful trewely
 Deserved fame rightfully,
 And praye yow, hit mot be knowe,
 Right as hit is, and forth y-blowe.'
 'I graunte,' quod she, 'for me list 1665
 That now your gode werk be wist;
 And yit ye shul han better loos,
 Right in dispyt of alle your foos,
 Than worthy is; and that anoon:
 Lat now,' quod she, 'thy trumpe goon, (580) 1670
 Thou Eolus, that is so blak;
 And out thyn other trumpe tak
 That highte Laude, and blow hit so
 That through the world hir fame go
 Al esely, and not to faste, 1675
 That hit be knowen atte laste.'
 'Ful gladly, lady myn,' he seyde;
 And out his trumpe of golde he brayde
 Anon, and sette hit to his mouthe,
 And blew hit est, and west, and southe, (590) 1680
 And north, as loude as any thunder,
 That every wight hadde of hit wonder,
 So brode hit ran, or than hit stente.
 And, certes, al the breeth that wente
 Out of his trumpes mouthe smelde 1685
 As men a pot-ful bawme helde
 Among a basket ful of roses;
 This favour dide he til hir loses.
 And right with this I gan aspye,
 Ther com the ferthe companye-- (600) 1690
 But certeyn they were wonder fewe--
 And gonne stonden in a rewe,
 And seyden, 'Certes, lady brighte,
 We han don wel with al our mighte;
 But we ne kepen have no fame. 1695
 Hyd our werkes and our name,
 For goddes love! for certes we
 Han certeyn doon hit for bountee,
 And for no maner other thing.'
 'I graunte yow al your asking,' (610) 1700
 Quod she; 'let your werk be deed.'
 With that aboute I clew myn heed,
 And saugh anoon the fifte route
 That to this lady gonne loute,
 And doun on knees anoon to falle; 1705
 And to hir tho besoughten alle
 To hyde hir gode werkes eek,
 And seyde, they yeven noght a leek
 For fame, ne for swich renoun;
 For they, for contemplacioun (620) 1710
 And goddes love, hadde y-wrought;
 Ne of fame wolde they nought.
 'What?' quod she, 'and be ye wood?
 And wene ye for to do good,
 And for to have of that no fame? 1715
 Have ye dispyt to have my name?
 Nay, ye shul liven everichoon!
 Blow thy trumpe and that anoon,'
 Quod she, 'thou Eolus, I hote,
 And ring this folkes werk by note, (630) 1720
 That al the world may of hit here.'
 And he gan blowe hir loos so clere
 In his golden clarioun,
 That through the world wente the soun,
 So kenely, and eek
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