And ill mote it match with thy fair renown
That a wandering damsel dine with thee!
"There is Simon the Deacon hath pulse in store,
With beans and lettuces fair to see:
His lenten fare now let me share,
I pray thee, Lord Abbot, in charitie!"
--"Though Simon the Deacon hath pulse in store,
To our patron Saint foul shame it were
Should wayworn guest, with toil oppressed,
Meet in his Abbey such churlish fare.