 | The pilgrime and heremite |  |
And when I saw that his Song received a full ende,
I showde my selfe shortlie, and kindlie did kythe.
And when that sore sicke man his true Bearer kende,
And saw the Face of his Friend, God knowes he was blythe.
Then showde I the blacke Bill, subscryv'd with his Name,
Well written with the hand of his owne deare Dame.
And then, with a glad sheare,
When Hope had ceassed Feare,
Hee read, that I might heare,
The Will of the same.
I showde my selfe shortlie, and kindlie did kythe.
And when that sore sicke man his true Bearer kende,
And saw the Face of his Friend, God knowes he was blythe.
Then showde I the blacke Bill, subscryv'd with his Name,
Well written with the hand of his owne deare Dame.
And then, with a glad sheare,
When Hope had ceassed Feare,
Hee read, that I might heare,
The Will of the same.
| The pilgrime and heremite | |