Þanne was folke fayne, and fedde Hunger with þe best, 295
With good ale, as Glotoun tauȝte, and gerte Hunger go slepe.
And þo wolde Wastour nouȝt werche, but wandren aboute,
Ne no begger ete bred that benes inne were,
But of coket, or clerematyn, or elles of clene whete,
Ne none halpeny ale in none wise drynke, 300
But of þe best and of þe brounest þat in borgh is to selle.
Laboreres þat haue no lande to lyue on but her handes,
Deyned nouȝt to dyne aday nyȝt-olde wortes;