Uncounceiled goth ther noon fro me.

And, for her soules savetee,

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At lord and lady, and hir meynee,

I axe, whan they hem to me shryve,

The propretee of al hir lyve,

And make hem trowe, bothe meest and leest,

Hir paroch-prest nis but a beest

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Ayens me and my company,