lebe-house[20], asshrewed[21] manne!
Haste to thie kiste[22], thie onlie dortoure[23] bedde. 25
Cale, as the claie whiche will gre on thie hedde,
Is Charitie and Love aminge highe elves;
Knightis and Barons live for pleasure and themselves.

The gatherd storme is rype; the bigge drops falle;
The forswat[24] meadowes smethe[25], and drenche[26] the raine; 30
The comyng ghastness do the cattle pall[27],
And the full flockes are drivynge ore the plaine;
Dashde from the cloudes the waters flott[28] againe;
The welkin opes; the yellow levynne[29] flies;
And the hot fierie smothe[30] in the wide lowings[31] dies. 35

Liste! now the thunder's rattling clymmynge[32] sound
Cheves[33] slowlie on, and then embollen[34] clangs,
Shakes the hie spyre, and losst, dispended, drown'd,
Still on the gallard[35] eare of terroure hanges;
The windes are up; the lofty elmen swanges; 40
Again the levynne and the thunder poures,
And the full cloudes are braste[36] attenes in stonen showers.

Spurreynge his palfrie oere the watrie plaine.
The Abbote of Seyncte Godwynes convente came;
His chapournette[37] was drented with the reine, 45
And his pencte[38] gyrdle met with mickle shame;
He aynewarde tolde his bederoll[39] at the same;
The storme encreasen, and he drew aside,
With the mist[40] almes craver neere to the holme to bide.

His cope[41] was all of Lyncolne clothe so fyne, 50
With a gold button fasten'd neere his chynne;
His autremete[42] was edged with golden twynne,
And his shoone pyke a loverds[43] mighte have binne;
Full well it shewn he thoughten coste no sinne;
The trammels of the palfrye pleasde his sighte; 55
For the horse-millanare[44] his head with roses dighte.

An almes, sir prieste! the droppynge pilgrim saide,
O! let me waite within your covente dore,
Till the sunne sheneth hie above our heade,
And the loude tempeste of the aire is oer; 60
Helpless and ould am I alas! and poor;
No house, ne friend, ne moneie in my pouche;
All yatte I call my owne is this my silver crouche

Varlet, replyd the Abbatte, cease your dinne;
This is no season almes and prayers to give; 65
Mie porter never l