The cherl they founden hem aforn
Ligging undir an hawethorn.
Undir his heed no pilowe was,
But in the stede a trusse of gras.
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He slombred, and a nappe he took,
Til Shame pitously him shook,
And greet manace on him gan make.
Why slepist thou whan thou shulde wake?'
Quod Shame; 'thou dost us vilanye!