“What hast i-do, bel amy,
That thou me so oxist pes?”
“Sire,” he seid, “I nel noȝt lie,
If thou me woldist hire a res.
For ic huntid up the doune,
To loke, Sire, mi biȝete;
Ther ic slow a motune,
Ȝe, Sir, and fewe gete.
Ic am i-wreiid, Sire, to the,
For that ilk gilt;—