PLease it your maship, good mast Camell,
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To heare a poore man, his tale for to tell,
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And though you be, a man of great debilitie,
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Denye not to heare, a man of low abilitie,
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And I syre you, to take it, for no presmountacion,
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For yche ha be brought up, after unrude facion:
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Syr, now chyll showe ye, the mater and the case,
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why cham com to speake you, and like your faire face,
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There is one Churcharde, that hath you spleasar done,
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And ych am com to syre ye, to be good maister tone,
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But twas unleudly dooe, and after an homly sort,
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So fayre a beast as you ben, to tyen up so short:
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I pray you holden scused, twas but, for lacke of nourter,
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For cham sure, hannot ben, past .vii or .viii. yer a courter
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Twas but blockshly ydo, of one so unbase as he,
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To spout with such a gemman, of so hie a peti degree:
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Yer of a sturdy stock, for your fader nere raisd his farmes
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Nor nere sold his lands: for ych herd an hasard of arms
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Blase all the aunciall proditours, of your olde axeltrie,
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which com from olde housen, of moch inpossibilitie,
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And many upstaunciall men, wer brouded in that nest,
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But your moder in her arms (he said) bare a byg best:
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Besech ye good mast Camell, geve ore & leve your fume
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& chil be bound that Churchard shan no more so parsume
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But if he be so sedgious, to writen an other, whan,
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Bum fay chyll treate no more, do withen what ye can.
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