Pass over this; I go my tale unto. Ere that the pot be on the fire y-do 4728 Of metals, with a certain quantity My lord them tempers, 4729 and no man but he (Now he is gone, I dare say boldëly); For as men say, he can do craftily, Algate 4730 I wot well he hath such a name, And yet full oft he runneth into blame; And know ye how? full oft it happ’neth so, The pot to-breaks, and farewell! all is go’. 4731 These metals be of so great violence, Our wallës may not make them résistence, But if 4732 they werë wrought of lime and stone; They piercë so, that through the wall they gon; And some of them sink down into the ground (Thus have we lost by timës many a pound),