Kynge, knyght, and knave.
ȝa, whan he dede ryse out of his lake,
Than was ther suche an erthe-quake,
That alle the worlde it gan to shake,
That made us ffor to rave.
Quartus miles. ȝa, ȝa, herke, ffelawys, what I xal say;
Late us not ses be nyght nor day,
But telle the trewthe, ryght as it lay,
In countré where we goo.
And than I dare ley myn heed,