In which ther ran a romble and a swough,

As though a storme shuld bresten every bough.

And, dounward from an hill, under a bent,

Ther stood the temple of Mars Armipotcnt,

Wrought all of burned stele; of which th’ entrée

Was longe and streite, and gastly for to see;

And therout came a rage and swiche a vise,

That it made all the gates for to rise.