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Þe wikked gost onswerde þon
And seide : “þou art a Mad mon!
Þauȝ þou woldest now be-ginne
And sigge þat glotenye were sinne,
Beter þe were þi Ianglyng lete.
Men scholde dye, ȝif þei ne ete,
And bote þei drinke wel, also;
No Mon mai liue wiþ-outen hem two.
To Badde counseil art þou euer ȝare,
To ffastyng and to vuel fare.
What good comeþ of fastyng?
ffeyntyse, Idelnesse, & non oþur þing.
Þat maiȝt þow wel wite be skil.
Whon þe flesch haþ Mete & drinke at wil,
Þen is he redi to fihte and chide
Wiþ alle þo þat gon and ride.
Ho mai duire for to swynke,
But ȝif he ete wel and drinke?
Hunger makeþ men beo bi-hynde
In vche a werk, as I fynde.
Gode drinkes & Metes wel I-diht
Are wel I-loued, and þat is riht.
Ȝif he beo a stout sweyn,
He eteþ til hit come vp aȝeyn.
Al-þauh hit be so þat he caste—
So he mihte, þauh he faste—
Hit nis for no dronkenesse,
But for oþer seknesse.
Whon he is heled of þat sore,
He may ete and drinke more,
And make glad and bliþe chere—
ffor euere is ale and wyn good fere.
Et faste and drink wel : And sleep euere a-mong:
And þenne mayht þow lyue : Ȝeres monye and long.”