The Man in the Moon stands and strides.

On his boatfork (i.e., pike pole) he bears his burden.

It’s a wonder that he hasn’t slid down; in fear, lest he fall, he shudders and shakes.

When the forest freezes, he has to abide the chill; the thorns are keen, they rip and tear.

No one in the world knows, when he sits, what he wears (unless it be in the hedge?).

Where do you think this man has gone?

He’s set one foot in front of another; for whatever height he reaches, I’ve not seen this man shaken.

Harley manuscript, early 14th century old English, translation: gmc, 2019.