And so farre, at lest, she hath made me to lyttell. 975
Wher be ye Launder? I thynke in some spytell.[202]
Ye shall washe me no gere, for feare of fretynge[203]
I love no launders that shrynke my gere in wettynge,
I praye the go hens, and let me be in rest.
I wyll do thyne erand as I thynke best. 980
Launder. Now wolde I take my leve, yf I wyste how.
The lenger I lyve the more knave you.
Mery-reporte. The lenger thou lyvest the pyte the gretter,
The soner thou be ryd the tydynges the better!