'We haf standen her syn ros þe sunne,
And no mon byddeȝ vus do ryȝt noȝt.' 160
'Gos into my vyne, dotȝ þat ȝe conne,'
So sayde þe lorde, and made hit toȝt;
'What resonabele hyre be naȝt be runne
I yow [pay] in dede and þoȝte.'
Þay wente into þe vyne and wroȝte, 165
And al day þe lorde þus ȝede his gate,
And nw men to hys vyne he broȝte,
Welneȝ wyl day watȝ passed date.