I beseche you be my solycyter. B iv b
Mery-reporte. As in that, I wyl be your well-wyller.
I perceyve you be a water myller.
And your hole desyre, as I take the mater,
Is plente of rayne for encres of water. 500
The let wherof, ye affyrme determynately,
Is onely the wynde, your mortall enemy.
Water Myller. Trouth it is, for it blowyth so alofte,
We never have rayne, or, at the most, not ofte.
Wherfore, I praye you, put the god in mynde 505