tell thé, I am of countenaunce: 330
What weneste I were? I trowe, thou knowe not me.
By Goddis woundes, but for dysplesaunce,
Of my querell soone wolde I venged be:
But no force, I shall ones mete with thé;
Come whan it wyll, oppose thé I shall,
What someuer auenture therof fall.
Trowest thou, dreuyll, I saye, thou gawdy knaue,
That I haue deynte to see thé cherysshed thus?
By Goddis syde, my sworde thy berde shall shaue;
Well, ones thou shalte be chermed, I wus: 340
Naye, strawe for tales, thou shalte not rule vs;
We be thy betters, and so thou shalte vs take,
Or we shall thé oute of thy clothes shake.
DREDE.
Wyth that came Ryotte, russhynge all at ones,
A rusty gallande, to-ragged and to-rente;
And on the borde he whyrled a payre of bones,
Quater treye dews he clatered as he wente;
Now haue at all, by saynte Thomas of Kente!
And euer he threwe and kyst[301] I wote nere what:
His here was growen thorowe oute his hat. 350
Thenne I behelde how he dysgysed was:
His hede was heuy for watchynge ouer nyghte,
His eyen blereed, his face shone lyke a glas;
His gowne so shorte that it ne couer myghte
His rumpe, he wente so all for somer lyghte;
His hose was garded wyth a lyste of grene,
Yet at the knee they were broken, I wene.
His cote was checked[302] with patches rede and blewe;
Of Kyrkeby Kendall was his shorte demye;
And ay he sange, In fayth, decon thou crewe; 360
His elbowe bare, he ware his gere so nye;
His nose a[303] droppynge, his lyppes were full drye;
And by his syde his whynarde and his pouche,
The deuyll myghte daunce therin for ony[304] crowche.
Counter he coude O lux vpon a potte;
An[305] eestryche fedder of a capons tayle
He set vp fresshely vpon his hat alofte:
What reuell route! quod he, and gan to rayle
How ofte he hadde[306] hit Jenet on the tayle,
Of Felyce fetewse, and lytell prety Cate, 370
How ofte he knocked at her klycked gate.
What sholde I tell more of his rebaudrye?
I was ashamed so to here hym prate:
He had no pleasure but in harlotrye.
Ay, quod he, in the deuylles date,
What arte thou? I sawe thé nowe but late.
Forsothe, quod I, in this courte I dwell nowe.
Welcome, quod Ryote, I make God auowe.[307]
RYOTE.
And, syr, in fayth why comste not vs amonge,
To make thé mery, as other felowes done? 380
Thou muste swere and stare, man, al daye longe,
And wake all nyghte, and slepe tyll it be none;
Thou mayste not studye, or muse on the mone;
This worlde is nothynge but ete, drynke, and slepe,
And thus with vs good company to kepe.
Plucke vp thyne herte vpon a mery pyne,
And lete vs laugh a placke[308] or tweyne at nale:
What the deuyll, man, myrthe was neuer one![309]
What, loo, man, see here of dyce a bale!
A brydelynge caste for that is in thy male! 390
Now haue at all that lyeth vpon the burde!
Fye on this dyce, they be not worth a turde!
Haue at the hasarde, or at the dosen browne,
Or els I[310] pas a peny to a pounde!
Now, wolde to God, thou wolde leye money downe!
Lorde, how that I wolde caste it full rounde!
Ay, in my pouche a buckell I haue founde;
The armes of Calyce, I haue no coyne nor crosse!
I am not happy, I renne ay on the losse.
Now renne muste I to the stewys syde, 400
To wete yf Malkyn, my lemman, haue gete oughte:
I lete her to hyre, that men maye on her ryde,
Her armes[311] easy ferre and nere is soughte:
By Goddis sydes; syns I her thyder broughte,
She hath gote me more money with her tayle
Than hath some shyppe
