The smiler with the knife under the cloak, The shepen 564 burning with the blackë smoke; The treason of the murd’ring in the bed, The open war, with woundës all be-bled; Conteke 565 with bloody knife, and sharp menace. All full of chirking 566 was that sorry place. The slayer of himself eke saw I there, His heartë-blood had bathed all his hair: The nail y-driven in the shode 567 at night, The coldë death, with mouth gaping upright. Amiddës of the temple sat Mischance, With discomfórt and sorry countenance; Eke saw I Woodness 568 laughing in his rage, Armed Complaint, Outhees,