A Sompnour 217 was there with us in that place, That had a fire-red cherubinnës face, For sausëfleme 218 he was, with eyen narrow. As hot he was and lecherous as a sparrow, With scalled browës black, and pilled 219 beard: Of his viságe children were sore afeard. There n’as quicksilver, litharge, nor brimstone, Boras, ceruse, nor oil of tartar none, Nor ointëment that wouldë cleanse or bite, That him might helpen of his whelkës 220 white, Nor of the knobbës 221 sitting on his cheeks. Well lov’d he garlic, onións, and leeks, And for to drink strong wine as red as blood.