To my soule Savacioun,
To joye with outen endyng.
And quanne i was made a prest here,
God thewes i wolde lere,
As I haue the told;
Now thou woste with outen strife,
How I haue led in lif,
And all my goodnesse I haue thee solde,
Thanne seide the Prest to the Marchaunt,
Hold thou me my covenaunt,