Steward, felow! A pot of bere!’—
‘Ye shalle have sir, with good chere,
Anon alle of the best.’”
Sick pilgrims could not eat, and were jeered at, they found the time long; some, with a book on their knees, tried to read, but then they felt as if their head would burst:
“Som layde theyr bookys on theyr kne,
And rad so long they myght nat se;—
‘Allas! myne hede wolle cleve on thre!’”
When at their worst, comes a facetious sailor to bawl out in their ears: Cheer up, in a moment we shall be in a storm! {380}
“Then cometh oone and seyth: ‘Be mery;
Ye shall have a storme or a pery’ (a squall)