At Sandwyche or at Wynchylsea,
At Bristow, or where that hyt bee,
Theyr hertes begin to fayle.
Thys menewhyle the pylgryms lye,
And have theyr bowlys fast them by,
And cry afthyr hote malvesy,
‘Thou helpe for to restore.’
And soon sold have a saltyd tost,
For they myght ete neyther sode ne rost,
A man might sone pay for theyr cost,