How harde ys mie dome to wurch! 
        Moke is mie woe. 
  Dame Agnes, whoe lies ynne the Chyrche
        With birlette[17] golde,
  Wythe gelten[18] aumeres[19] stronge ontolde, 25
  What was shee moe than me, to be soe?

  MANNE.

    I kenne Syr Roger from afar
      Tryppynge over the lea;
    Ich ask whie the loverds[20] son
      Is moe than mee. 30

  SYR ROGERRE.

    The sweltrie[21] sonne dothe hie apace hys wayne[22],
    From everich beme a seme[23]; of lyfe doe falle;
    Swythyn[24] scille[25] oppe the haie uponne the playne;
    Methynckes the cockes begynneth to gre[26] talle. 
    Thys ys alyche oure doome[27]; the great, the smalle, 35
    Mofte withe[28] and bee forwyned[29] by deathis darte. 
    See! the swote[30] flourette[31] hathe noe swote at alle;
    Itte wythe the ranke wede bereth evalle[32] parte. 
    The cravent[33], warrioure, and the wyse be blente[34],
  Alyche to drie awaie wythe those theie dyd bemente[35]. 40

  MANNE.

  All-a-boon[36], Syr Priest, all-a-boon,
    Bye yer preestschype nowe saye unto mee;
  Syr Gaufryd the knyghte, who lyvethe harde bie,
    Whie shoulde hee than mee
               Bee moe greate, 45
  Inne honnoure, knyghtehoode and estate?

  SYR ROGERRE.

    Attourne[37] thine eyne arounde thys haied mee,
    Tentyflie[38] loke arounde the chaper[39] delle[40];
    An answere to thie barganette[41] here see,
    Thys welked[42] flourette wylle a leson telle:  50
    Arist[43] it blew[44], itte florished, and dyd welle,
    Lokeynge ascaunce[45] upon the naighboure greene;
    Yet with the deigned[46] greene yttes rennome[47] felle,
    Eftsoones[48] ytte shronke upon the daie-brente[49] playne,
    Didde not yttes loke, whilest ytte there dyd stonde, 55
  To croppe ytte in the bodde move somme dred honde.

    Syke[50] ys the waie of lyffe; the loverds[51] ente[52]
    Mooveth the robber hym therfor to slea[53];
    Gyf thou has ethe[54], the shadowe of contente,
    Beleive the trothe[55], theres none moe haile[56] yan thee. 60
    Thou wurchest[57]; welle, canne thatte a trobble bee? 
    Slothe moe wulde jade thee than the roughest daie. 
    Couldest thou the kivercled[58] of soughlys[59] see,
    Thou wouldst eftsoones[60] see trothe ynne whatte I saie;
    Botte lette me heere thie waie of lyffe, and thenne 65
  Heare thou from me the lyffes of odher menne.

  MANNE.