Xxx

At last with creeping crooked pace forth came An old old man, with beard as white as snow, That on a staffe his feeble steps did frame, And guide his wearie gate both to and fro: For his eye sight him failed long ygo, And on his arme a bounch of keyes he bore, The which unused rust° did overgrow: Those were the keyes of every inner dore, But he could not them use, but kept them still in store.