REst ye mery vayre zyr, I trow ye be maste Camell,
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ichan on message to you zent, vrom goodman Geffrai Chapel
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A hate ye zent a bottell a hay, and bad commaunde ma tye ye,
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And vor de dyng he spake ye to, a preyd ye dat ye wood hy ye,
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And zuch kynd daintrels as a had, zum draf he hate ye zent,
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A zyerd ye vor to gnab deron, vor der is no better in Kent,
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Tis goode and zoote & alzo new, to mende your zyckysh brayne
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Vor weele a zeete ye ha great stud, & zet yourself to payne,
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Him braid yer wits wud zore ye vayle, ye gyn to rave zo zone,
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A dynkte ye wyll be mad, al out, bevore dat May be done:
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And moch he merveilt dat ye wud, zo chorlshly to um wryghte,
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And dat ye zent um such an Anser, dat zounded noding right
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To Harry Hoball zyr ye wrot, as pearit in your letter,
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zwap yer speckles up se nase, and looke about ye better,
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And Anser Geffray Chappell zyr, dat toke ye de zupplicacion,
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Vor his name is not Hary whobal, ich zwear by gods zavacion
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How zay ye now yore speckles be on, can ye vorstande his byll,
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ych ween a trete ye (zereverence a you) to do Churchard no yl
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And her cha brought yor byll ayen, corrupt it or ich go,
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Vor vende gods vorbod man I zedge, to let it go vorth zo:
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But well ich zee yor brayne is dicke, yor wits be curstly vext,
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Prey God ye be not zyde yorzelf, er be tomorow next:
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Dervore go couch and sleap a nowe, and dan com to yor parte,
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And dyte a wyser dyng dan dat, or all is not wort a vart.
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