Come, shew hys mynde quyckly,
And yf hys tale be not lyckly[215]
Ye shall lycke my tayle in the nocke. 1065
All thys tyme I perceyve is spent in wast,
To wayte for mo sewters I se none make hast.
Wherfore I wyll shew the god all thys procys
And be delyvered of my symple[216] offys.
Now, lorde, accordynge to your commaundement, 1070
Attendynge sewters I have ben dylygent,
And, at begynnyng as your wyll was I sholde,