And while he busy was, this fiendly wretch, This false canón (the foulë fiend him fetch), Out of his bosom took a beechen coal, In which full subtilly was made a hole, And therein put was of silver limáile 4804 An ounce, and stopped was withoutë fail The hole with wax, to keep the limaile in. And understandë, that this falsë gin 4805 Was not made there, but it was made before; And other thingës I shall tell you more, Hereafterward, which that he with him brought; Ere he came there, him to beguile he thought, And so he did, ere that they went atwin; 4806 Till he had turned him, could he not blin. 4807 It doleth 4808 me, when that I of him speak; On his falsehóod fain would I me awreak, 4809 If I wist how, but he is here and there;