The Elector's Tale
When that Aprille with his shoures soote The polls of March bath forced to the roote, When Maister Wilson with his swete breeth Inspired bath o'er holy Jo and Heath, His eyen twynkle in his heed aryght Like television on a frowsy nyght, Bifal the Bookmaker moost take advyce To knowen if he pays his taxen twice, For doth the worthy Chancellor forget The Bookmaker moost alwey hedge his bet?
Thanne folk who longen to go on pilgrimages Will pryke nature to guess what this presages, And those who liked to seeken strange strondes In ferwe hotels, kowthe in sondry londes, Now find the English dollar less of use Than erst it was in Lettow or in Pruce.
Natheless let gold and dollars be reserved.
If they be week, how shal the londe be served?
And thus to Caunterbury they al combine Ech day to go to worship at the shrine The holy, blisful martir here at home, Instead of an excursion trip to Rome.
This to Mine Hoste in Southwerk can assure Greet profit come by happy aventure.
E'ek Plato saith, whoso that can him coud,
Thus ill winds blow some bodie something good.