Ner slayn wyth þe slete he sleped in his yrnes,
Mo nyȝteȝ þen in-noghe in naked rokkeȝ,
Þer as claterande fro þe crest þe colde borne renneȝ,
& henged heȝe ouer his hede in hard ÿsse-ikkles.
Þus in peryl, & payne, & plytes ful harde,
Bi contray caryeȝ þis knyȝt, tyl kryst-masse euen,
al one;
Þe knyȝt wel þat tyde,
To Mary made his mone.
Þat ho hym red to ryde,