Than bespake that gentyll knyght
Untyll hys meynè,
"Now put on your symple wedes
That ye brought fro the see."
[They put on their symple wedes,]65
And came to the gates anone;
The porter was redy hymselfe,
And welcomed them everychone.
"Welcome, syr knyght," sayd the portèr,
"My lorde to mete is he,70
And so is many a gentyll man,
For the love of the."
The porter swore a full grete othe,
"By god that made me,
Here be the best coresed hors,75
That ever yet sawe I me.
"Lede them into the stable," he sayd,
"That eased might they be:"
"They shall not come therin," sayd the knyght,
"By god that dyed on a tre."80
Lordes were to mete isette
In that abbotes hall;
The knyght went forth and kneled downe,
And salued them grete and small.
"Do gladly, syr abbot," sayd the knyght,85
"I am come to holde my day:"
The fyrst word the abbot spake,
"Hast thou brought my pay?"
"Not one peny," sayd the knyght,
"By god that maked me;"90
"Thou art a shrewed dettour," sayd the abbot;
"Syr justyce, drynke to me.
"What doost thou here," sayd the abbot,
"But thou haddest brought thy pay?"
"For god," than sayd the knyght,95
"To pray of a lenger daye."
"Thy daye is broke," sayd the justyce,
"Londe getest thou none:"
"Now, good syr justyce, be my frende,
And fende me of my fone."100