The Thirtieth Canto is explicitly archaic in its language, for example:
Compleynt, compleynt I hearde upon a day,
Artemis singing, Artemis, Artemis
Agaynst Pity lifted her wail:
Pity causeth the forest to fail,
After the first stanza, the levels of anachronism fall considerably, but never disappears.
Perhaps referencing his own creation and publication of literature, it ends with a fragment of a letter about the production of book of some kind (the implication is a religious book) in the early sixteenth century.
The Canto ends with this:
Explicit Canto
XXX
I enjoyed reading this, being pleasantly and slightly challenging, it also appealing the historian in me.
the coffee philosopher 
Definitely a Chaucer-like spelling of his words, or similar spellings as those used by translators of Greek and Latin into English in the medieval era. I take the end to be a sort of pun. And you have touched upon historical elements before; would it pain you then to expand on how it did so? I’m not much of a historian myself, so it interests me to hear about the culture of historians, if that isn’t too high a term for it. I mean, even long distance runners have their own culture based on muted nods of acknowledgement at 6 in the morning to the runner’s high.
I should probably not comment too much on the culture of historians, not having an advanced degree in history, but I would say that a love of primary sources and small things found within is key.
Incidentally, Pound’s focus on finances and logistics when he writes about Renaissance history is very much in keeping with the American tradition of medieval studies pioneered by Charles Homer Haskins and Joseph Strayer. The most prestigious award in history offered in America is even called the Haskins Medal.
Evidently, for you, this task was more than “slightly challenging”.
Yeah, I need to get back to Pound… I’ve been distracting myself with Zukofsky lately… His “a” is a less Euro-centric Cantos