Which seeing, I got me out of the door,
When Flemings began on me for to cry:
‘Master, what will you copen or buy?
Fine felt hats, or spectacles to read?
Lay down your silver, and here you may speed.’
Then into London I did me hie—
Of all the land it beareth the prize.
‘Hot peascods!’ one began to cry;
‘Strawberries ripe, and cherries in the rise!’
One bade me come near and buy some spice: