I had lever go xxti myle twyse!
what avaylith it me thowgh I say nay?
¶ My master lokith as he were madde:
“wher hast thou be, thow sory ladde?”
“Milked dukkis, my moder badde:”
hit was no mervayle thow I were sadde.
what vaylith it me thowgh I say nay?
¶ My master pepered my ars with well good spede:
hit was worse thañ ffynkll sede;
he wold not leve till it did blede.