I’ve uncovered a lost character from the Canterbury Tales:
A watchmaker was anachronistically there,
His bent back and crooked hands his sins to bear.
He carried the tools of his wicked trade,
The masters of men he slavishly made.
No longer a dial, a candle, a glass;
Banish the sun and moon alas.
Equal hours were his dark art,
Crafting time as empty as his heart.
The Prince of Darkness beside him as he rode,
A pilgrimage was his hope’s last abode.