But couetyse hath blowen you so full of wynde,
That colica passio hath gropyd you by the guttys.
Fel. In fayth, broder Largesse, you haue a mery mynde.
Fan. In fayth, I set not by the worlde two Dauncaster cuttys.
Magn. Ye wante but a wylde flyeng bolte to shote at the buttes:
Though Largesse ye hyght, your langage is to large;
For whiche ende goth forwarde ye take lytell charge.
Fel. Let se, this checke yf ye voyde canne. 300
Fan. In faythe, els had I gone to longe to scole,
But yf I coulde knowe a gose from a swanne.