And your spyghtfull despyghtyng,
For alle ys nat worthe a myteyng,
A makerell nor a wyteyng:
Had ye gonne with me to scole,
And occupyed no better your tole,
Ye xulde haue kowththyd me a fole.
But now, gawdy, gresy Garnesche, 120
Your face I wyse to varnyshe
So suerly yt xall nat tarnishe.
Thow a Sarsens hed ye bere,