Ware, ware, the mare wynsyth wyth her wanton hele!
She kykyth with her kalkyns and keylyth with a clench;
She goyth wyde behynde, and hewyth neuer a dele:
Ware gallyng in the widders, ware of that wrenche!
It is perlous for a horseman to dyg in the trenche.
Thys greuyth your husband, that ryght jentyll knyght,
And so with youre seruantys he fersly doth fyght.
So fersly he fytyth, hys mynde is so fell,
That he dryuyth them doune with dyntes on ther day wach; 30
He bresyth theyr braynpannys and makyth them to swell,