human
And if thow diete thee thus, I dar legge myne eris, That Phisik shal hise furred hodes For his fode selle, 4340 And his cloke of Calabre, With alle the knappes of golde, And be fayn, by my feith! His phisik to lete, And lerne to laboure with lond, For liflode is swete. For murthereris are manye leches, Lord hem amende! They do men deye thorugh hir drynkes, Er destynee it wolde. 4350
gpt
By seint Poul! quod Piers,
human
Thise arn profitable wordes! Wend now, Hunger, whan thow wolt, That wel be thow evere! For this is a lovely lesson, Lord it thee for-yelde!
gpt
Bi-hote God! quod Hunger, {134}
human
Hennes ne wole I wende, Til I have dyned bi this day, And y-dronke bothe.