I never spend nothing but what is my owne;
And I trust your grace will doe me no deere
For spending of my owne true-gotten geere.
Yes, yes, father abbot, your fault it is highe,
And now for the same thou needest must dye;
For except thou canst answer me questions three,
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.
And first, quo’ the king, when I’m in this stead,
With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,