Cooke, make redy anoon our mete,

Our pylgryms haue no lust to ete.»

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Then comethe oone and seyth, «Be mery;

Ye shall haue a storme or a pery.»

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Thys mene whyle the pylgryms ly

And haue theyr bowlys fast theym by

And cry after hote maluesy.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .