P,1 In a somer seson, whan softe was the sonne,
P,2 I shoop me into shroudes as I a sheep were,
P,3 In habite as an heremite unholy of werkes,
P,4 Wente wide in this world wondres to here.
P,5 Ac on a May morwenynge on Malverne hilles
P,6 Me bifel a ferly, of Fairye me thoghte.
P,7 I was wery forwandred and wente me to reste
P,8 Under a brood bank by a bourne syde;
P,9 And as I lay and lenede and loked on the watres,
P,10 I slombred into a slepyng, it sweyed so murye.
P,11 Thanne gan I meten a merveillous swevene--
P,12 That I was in a wildernesse, wiste I nevere where.
P,13 A[c] as I biheeld into the eest an heigh to the sonne,
P,14 I seigh a tour on a toft trieliche ymaked,
P,15 A deep dale bynethe, a dongeon therinne,
P,16 With depe diches and derke and dredfulle of sighte.
P,17 A fair feeld ful of folk fond I ther bitwene--
P,18 Of alle manere of men, the meene and the riche,
P,19 Werchynge and wandrynge as the world asketh.
P,20 Somme putten hem to the plough, . . .