Off whom we have oure dayly food,
And ellys we had but lytyl drewe.
Caym. ȝitt me thynkeht thi wytt is wood,
ffor of thi lore I ffynde but ffewe;
I wylle never the more chawnge my mood,
ffor no wordys that thou dost shewe;
I sey I wylle tythe the werst.
Abelle. Now God, that syt in hefne above,
On whom is sett alle myn hool love,
This wyckyd wylle from the he showe,