'I serve,' we translate this.—
I own righte welle shee serveth mee,
And would serve you I wisse.—E. Poins.
"On Dol Tearsheete her Garters; the mottoe 'Honi soit qui mal y pense' being worked with worsteades thereon:
"Avaunt, ye peasant slaves! and see from whence
The mottoe 'Honi soit qui mal y pense.'
Dare of Dol's garters but to whisper eville,
With rapier's biting blade I'll drive ye to the deville!—Pistol."
—E.
These verses are copied verbatim et literatim from the brittle memorial on which they were found; but should any obstinate sceptic be hardy enough to doubt their antiquity, and, notwithstanding the internal evidence which beams through every line, suppose them the productions of modern days, let him read the numerous volumes of those gentlemen who debated so learnedly and so long about the workis of Maister Rowlie, the Bristowe poet, and the giftis of Maister Cannynge, the Bristowe patron; and if, after he has waded through these clear streams of ancient lore, a doubt remains in his mind—he must be an infidel.