I yray ȝow, seres, of ȝour good wylle,
No ferther that ȝe fflytt.
Jentyl knyhtes, I ȝow pray,
A bettyr sawe that ȝe say;
Sey ther he was cawth away
With his dyscyplis be nyght.
Sey he was with his dyscyplis ffett,
I wolde ȝe worn in ȝour sadelys ssett,
And have here gold in a purs knett,
And to Rome rydyth ryght.