Quithe yatt hee toke hys lethernne poke,
Ande whettedde hys knyfe soe shene,
Ande hee patyentlye sate atte ye kytchenne yate
Tyll ne villeins quehere thyther seene;
Yenne quithe meikle drede cutte offe ye boares hede.
Als thoe ytte nevere hadde beene.
Yenne ye fryare hee nymblie footedde ye swerde,
Ande bente hym toe halie pyle;
Forre ance quithynne yttes sacredde shrynne,
Hee’d loucgche and joke atte hys guyle;
Botte hie thee faste quithe thye outmoste haste,
Forre thye gate ys monnie a myle.
Nowe Chryste ye save, quehene ye vylleins sawe.
Ye boare quithouten ye hede,
They wyst ande grie yatte wytcherie
Hadde donne ye featouse dede
Ynne sore dystraughte ye fryare they soucghte,
Toe helpe y’em ynne yere nede.
Theye soucghte and soucghte ande lang theye soucghte,
Ne fryare ne hede cold fynde,
Forre fryare ande hede farre oer ye mede,
Were scuddynge ytte lyk ye wynde:
Botte haste, botte haste, thoue jollie fryare,
Quehere boltt and barre wylle bynde.
Ye sunne wals hyghe yane hys journeye flyghte,
Ande homewarde ye fysher bote rowedde,[178]
Quehenne ye deepe soundynge horne shoudde Syr Delavalles retorne,
Quithe hys knychtes ande ladyes proude:
Ye bagpypes y’sonde ande ye jeste went ronde,
Ande revelrye merrye ande loude.
Botte meikle, botte meikle wals ye rage,
Offe ye hoste and compagnie,
Quehenne ye tale wals tolde offe ye dede soe bolde,
Quilke wals layde toe wytcherie:
Ande howe ynne destraucghte ye moncke they soucghte,
Ye moneke offe ye Pryorie.
Now rycghtlie y wyss Syr Delavalle knewe,
Quehenne tould of ye fryare knave;
Bye mye knycghthoode I vowe hee schalle derelye rue,
Thys trycke hee thoucghte soe brave;
Ande awaie flewe ye knycghte, lyk are egle’s flychte,
Oere ye sandes of ye northerne wave.
Ande faste and faste Syr Delavalle rodde,
Tylle ye Pryorie yate wals ynne vyewe,
Ande ye knycghte wals awar offe a fryare talle,
Quithe ane loke baythe tiredde ande grewe,
Who quithe rapydde spanne oerre ye grene swerde ranne,
Ye wrathe offe ye knycghte toe eschewe.
Botte staie, botte staie, thou fryare knave,
Botte staie ande shewe toe mee,
Quatte thoue haste ynne yatte leatherne poke,
Quilke thoue mayest carrie soe hie,
Now Chryste ye save, sayde ye fryare knave,
Fire-botte forre ye Pryorie.
Thoue lyest! thoue lyest! thoue knavyshe preste,
Thoue lyest untoe mee,
Ye knycghte hee toke ye leatherne poke,
Ande hys boare’s hede dydde espie,
And stylle ye reke fro ye scotchedde cheke,
Dydde seeme rychte savourie.