Sens. Ye shall see anon.
A well-drawn man is he; and a well-taught,
That will not give his head for nought;
And, thereto goodly, as ye shall see in a day
As well-apparelled at each point of his array.
[Mankind goes aside.
[Pride.] Who dwelleth here? will no man speak?
Is there no fool nor hoddypeak?
Now, by the bell! it were alms to break
Some of these knaves' brows.
A gentleman comes in at the doors,
That all his days hath worn gilt spurs,
And none of these knaves nor cutted whores
Bids him welcome to house!
Wot ye not how great a lord I am?
Of how noble progeny I came?
My father a knight; my mother called madame;
Mine ancestors great estates.
And now the livelood is to me fall
By both their deaths natural:
I am spoken of more than they all,
Hence to Paris gates.
How say ye, sirs, by mine array?
Doth it please you, yea or nay?
In the best wise, I dare well say!
By that ye know me awhile
And one thing I put you out of doubt;
I have wherewith to bear it out
As well as any man hereabout
Within these hundred mile.
Behold [the rest of the line, almost cut away, is indecipherable.]
A staring colour of scarlet red:
I promise you a fine thread
And a soft wool.
It cost me a noble at one pitch—
The scald capper sware sithich
That it cost him even as mich—
But there Pride had a pull.
I love it well to have side hair
Half a wote beneath mine ear;
For, evermore, I stand in fear
That mine neck should take cold.
I knit it up all the night;
And the daytime comb it down right;
And then it crispeth and shineth as bright
As any purled gold.
My doublet is on-laced before—
A stomacher of satin and no more;
Rain it, snow it never so sore,
Methinketh I am too hot.
Then have I such a short gown,
With wide sleeves that hang a-down—
They would make some lad in this town
A doublet and a coat.
Some men would think that this were pride;
But it is not so—ho, ho, abide!
I have a dagger by my side
Yet thereof spake not I.
I bought this dagger at the mart,
A sharp point and a tart;
He that had it in his heart
Were as good to die.
Then have I a sword or twain;
To bear them myself it were a pain;
They are so heavy that I am fain
To purvey such a lad,
Though I say it, a pretty boy—
It is half my life's joy.
He maketh me laugh with many a toy,
The urchin is so mad.