Forthwith themselves disguising both in strange
  And base attire, that none might them betray,
  To Moridunum, that is now by change
  Of name Carmarthen called, they took their way:
  There the wise Merlin whilom wont (they say)
  To make his wonne, low underneath the ground,
  In a deep delve, far from the view of day,
  That of no living wight he might be found,
When so he counseled with his sprites encompassed round.

​

And if thou ever happen that same way
  To travel, go to see that dreadful place:
  It is an hideous hollow cave (they say)
  Under a rock that lies a little space
  From the swift Barry, tumbling down apace,
  Amongst the woody hills of Dinefwr:
  But dare thou not, I charge, in any case,
  To enter into that same baleful bower,
For fear the cruel fiends should thee un'wares devour.

​

But standing high aloft, low lay thine ear,
  And there such ghastly noise of iron chains,
  And brazen cauldrons thou shalt rumbling hear,
  Which thousand sprites with long enduring pains
  Do toss, that it will stun thy feeble brains,
  And oftentimes great groans, and grievous stounds,
  When too huge toil and labour them constrains:
  And oftentimes loud strokes, and ringing sounds
From under that deep rock most horribly rebounds.

​

The cause some say is this: A little while
  Before that Merlin died, he did intend,
  A brazen wall in compass to compile
  About Carmarthen, and did it commend
  Unto these sprites, to bring to perfect end.
  During which work the Lady of the Lake,
  Whom long he loved, for him in haste did send,
  Who thereby forced his workmen to forsake,
Them bound till his return, their labour not to slake.

​

In the meantime, through that false Lady's train,
  He was surprised, and buried under bier,
  Ne ever to his work returned again:
  Nath'less those fiends may not their work forbear,
  So greatly his commandment they fear,
  But there do toil and travail day and night,
  Until that brazen wall they up do rear:
  For Merlin had in magic more insight,
Then ever him before or after living wight.

​

For he by words could call out of the sky
  Both Sun and Moon, and make them him obey:
  The land to sea, and sea to mainland dry,
  And darksome night he eke could turn to day:
  Huge hosts of men he could alone dismay,
  And hosts of men of meanest things could frame,
  When so him list his enemies to fray:
  That to this day for terror of his fame,
The fiends do quake, when any him to them does name.