Haue at the hasarde, or at the dosen browne, Or els I[310] pas a peny to a pounde! Now, wolde to God, thou wolde leye money downe! Lorde, how that I wolde caste it full rounde! Ay, in my pouche a buckell I haue founde; The armes of Calyce, I haue no coyne nor crosse! I am not happy, I renne ay on the losse. Now renne muste I to the stewys syde, 400 To wete yf Malkyn, my lemman, haue gete oughte: I lete her to hyre, that men maye on her ryde, Her armes[311] easy ferre and nere is soughte: By Goddis sydes; syns I her thyder broughte, She hath gote me more money with her tayle Than hath some shyppe that into Bordews sayle. Had I as good an hors as she is a mare, I durst auenture to iourney thorugh[312] Fraunce; Who rydeth on her, he nedeth not to care, For she is trussed for to breke a launce; 410 It is a curtel[313] that well can wynche and praunce: To her wyll I nowe all my pouerte lege; And, tyll I come, haue here is[314] myne hat to plege. DREDE. Gone is this knaue, this rybaude foule and leude; He ran as fast as euer that he myghte: Vnthryftynes[315] in hym may well be shewed, For whome[316] Tyborne groneth both daye and nyghte. And, as I stode and kyste[317] asyde my syghte, Dysdayne I sawe with Dyssymulacyon Standynge in sadde communicacion. 420 But there was poyntynge and noddynge with the hede, And many wordes sayde in secrete wyse; They wandred ay, and stode styll in no stede: Me thoughte, alwaye Dyscymular dyde deuyse; Me passynge sore myne herte than gan agryse,[318] I dempte and drede theyr talkynge was not good. Anone Dyscymular came where I stode. Than in his hode I sawe there faces tweyne; That one was lene and lyke a pyned goost, That other loked as he wolde me haue[319] slayne; 430 And to me warde as he gan for to coost, Whan that he was euen at me almoost, I sawe a knyfe hyd in his one sleue, Wheron was wryten this worde, _Myscheue_. And in his other sleue, me thought, I sawe A spone of golde, full of hony swete, To fede a fole, and for to preue a dawe;[320] And on that sleue these wordes were wrete, _A false abstracte cometh from a fals concrete_: His hode was syde, his cope was roset graye: 440 Thyse were the wordes that[321] he to me dyde saye. DYSSYMULATION. How do ye, mayster? ye loke so soberly: As I be saued at the dredefull daye, It is a perylous vyce, this enuy: Alas, a connynge man ne dwelle maye In no place well, but foles with hym[322] fraye! But as for that, connynge hath no foo Saue hym that nought can, Scrypture sayth soo.