Ho ra3t hym a riche rynk1 of red golde werke3,
Wyth a starande ston, stondande alofte,
Þat bere blusschande beme3 as þe bry3t sunne;
Wyt 3e wel, hit wat3 worth wele ful hoge.
Bot þe renk hit renayed, & redyly he sayde,
"I wil no gifte3 for gode, my gay, at þis tyme;
I haf none yow to norne, ne no3t wyl I take."
Ho bede hit hym ful bysily, & he hir bode wernes,
& swere swyftel[y] his sothe, þat he hit sese nolde;
& ho sore þat he forsoke, & sayde þer-after,