After my sicknesse, vows to acquite.
In a Cope of blacke, and not of greene,
On a Palfrey slender, long, and lene,
With rusty Bridle, made not for the sale,
My man to forne with a voyd Male,
That by Fortune tooke my Inne anone
Where the Pilgrimes were lodged everichone,
The same time her governour the host
Stonding in Hall, full of wind and bost,
Liche to a man wonder sterne and fers,