50
‘Now schall y wet and thow be god,
And polle het op to they nere;’
‘So god me helpe,’ seyde the prowde potter,
‘Þys ys bot rygȝt weke gere.’
51
To a quequer Roben went,
A god bolt owthe he toke;
So ney on to the marke he went,
He ffayled not a fothe.