Þer passes non bi þat place, so proude in his armes,
Þat he ne dynneȝ hym to deþe, with dynt of his honde;
For he is a mon methles, & mercy non vses,
For he hit chorle, oþer chaplayn, þat bi þe chapel rydes,
Monk, oþer masse-prest, oþer any mon elles,
Hym þynk as queme hym to quelle, as quyk go hym seluen.
For-þy I say þe as soþe as ȝe in sadel sitte,
Com ȝe þere, ȝe be kylled, [I] may þe knyȝt rede,
Trawe ȝe me þat trwely, þaȝ ȝe had twenty lyues
to spende;