quoth he, “God give it hardë grace, 4652 I am so us’d the hotë fire to blow, That it hath changed my coloúr, I trow; I am not wont in no mirrór to pry, But swinkë 4653 sore, and learn to multiply. 4654 We blunder 4655 ever, and poren 4656 in the fire, And, for all that, we fail of our desire; For ever we lack our conclusión. To muchë folk we do 4657 illusión, And borrow gold, be it a pound or two, Or ten or twelve, or many summës mo’, And make them weenen, 4658 at the leastë way,