3960'Ho!' quoth mine host, 'unto mine house there came,
Last night for lodging, a stout tinker knave,
Who now is ticking with his ragged dame.
Go, if with him ye any business have;
But who Albino is I cannot tell.
Here's no sike mon does penance in my cell.'
Into the arras-ceilèd parlour then,
The copesters went, in every corner snooked,
The tinker's visage none of them did ken,
But for Albino on Albino looked.