I haue a stoppynge oyster in my poke,
Truste me, and yf it come to a nede:
But I am lothe for to reyse a smoke,
Yf ye coude be otherwyse agrede; 480
And so I wolde it were, so God me spede,
For this maye brede to a confusyon,
Withoute God make a good conclusyon.
Naye, see where yonder stondeth the teder man!
A flaterynge knaue and false he is, God wote;
The dreuyll stondeth to herken, and he can: