Me repentys that I have nat wryton moche. I have bene sumwhat syke. Nay I haue bene passynge syke.

One day, when y wolde have shapped for to ascape, a grete unhap bifelle and I felle in ye sewer. Wete you well yt was an opyne sewere and a depe. And a sycknesse touchid me therefrom so outrely, I wende yt to have slayne me.

And that was moste pity, for yf a presoner hath the helthe off hys bodye, he myghte endure, be goddis mercy, having allwey hope of good deliveraunce. But whanne sum sicknesse rageth in hys body, well may he waile and wepe.

Lay his hous uppon hys nose
for of thys lyf he yevith nat a pese!

Bot thanke GOD hyt is paste.

Thereto I have wryton be lettirs to ye Lawerde Mayore Richarde Whittyngtonne that he sholde purvey newe seweris and dychis heere in thys preson. For even rattys mighte nat endure the fylthynesse that here reyneth.

And aftire I wrote these lettirs, and felte moche bettir, I shifted me for to ascape agayne for I moste crossse the see into BRETAGNE & I am allmoste redy en trestote poyntez.

I woll more anone.

may god delyver SIR Th. Malleore, miles, &c.