That I was of hir felaweashipe anon,
And made forward erly for to ryse,
To take our wey, then as I yow devyes.
But thilke text heeld he nat worth an oystre.
To climben by the rouges and the stalkes……
Unto the tubbes hanginge in the balkes ...
Of Engelond, to Canterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martir for to seke.
hir knives were chaped noght with bras
Bill al with silver; wrought ful clene and wel.
Ful byg he was of brawn, and eek of bones.