I late receyved a lettir of som reder that sayde 'wherfor is nat thy blogge so fulfylled of mirthe and of bourdis as is Mayster Chauceres blogge?'
I answere, wayte for hit.
An othir axeth 'where ys hoccleeve?'
How sholde I knowe? I suppose he ys woode othir ellys deed.
Anothir besy person writeth carpyng that 'thyn armes a chyff dexter syde off thy blogg be in sundir, that is to sey, yn sheldis twayne, bot they moste be quartird. Thou most quartir hem!'
Bot I sey, quartir hem thyselffe. I am in presoun.
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