In londe where that he were,

Every daye or he woulde dyne

Thre messes wolde he here :

The one in the worshyp of the fader,

The other of the holy goost,

The thyrde was of our dere lady,

That he loved of all other moste.

Robyn loved our dere lady,

For doute of dedely synne ;

Wolde he never do company harme