the will of the whispering wind?

"As well seek Heaven's gate in yon fair reflection as learn to love
in this light-minded, deceitful city," Hilarius said to himself a
little bitterly. He deemed that he had plumbed its hollowness and
learnt the full measure of its vanity. Already he shunned the
company and diversions of his fellow pages, though he was ever
ready to serve them. A prentice lad's homely brawl set him
shivering; a woman's jest painted his cheeks 'til they rivalled a
young maid's at her first wooing. He plucked aside his skirts and
walked in judgment; only wherever mountebank or juggler held the
crowd enthralled, there Hilarius, half-ashamed, would push his way,
in the unacknowledged hope of seeing again the maid whose mother,
like his own, was light o' love: a strange link truly to bind
Hilarius in his blindness to the rest of poor sinful humanity.

Suddenly there broke on his musing the clatter of horse-hoofs, and
a gay young page came spurring with bent head under the low
archway. He reined up by Hilarius:

"Dear lad, kind lad, wilt thou do me a service?"

"That will I, Hal, an it be in my power."

"Take this purse, then, to the Cock Tavern and give it mine host.
'Tis Luke Langland's reckoning; he left it with me yesternight, but
my head was full of feast and tourney, and 'tis yet undelivered.
Mine host will not let the serving men and the two horses go 'til
he hath seen Luke's money, and I cannot stay, for my lord will need
me."