‘Nay,’ seith Florent, ‘that may noght be.’
‘Ryd thanne forth thi wey,’ quod sche,
‘And if thou go withoute red,
Thou schalt be sekerliche ded.’
Florent behihte hire good ynowh
Of lond, of rente, of park, of plowh,
P. i. 95
Bot al that compteth sche at noght.
Tho fell this knyht in mochel thoght,
Now goth he forth, now comth ayein,