_Magn._ Who is that that thus dyd cry? Me thought he called Fansy. 330
_Magn._ Me thought he called Fansy me behynde.
_Fan._ Nay, syr, it was nothynge but your mynde: But nowe, syr, as touchynge this letter—
_Magn._ I shall loke in it at leasure better: And surely ye are to hym beholde; And for his sake ryght gladly I wolde Do what I coude to do you good.
_Fan._ I pray, God kepe you in that mood!
_Magn._ This letter was wryten ferre hence. 340
_Fan._ By lakyn, syr, it hathe cost me pence And grotes many one, or I came to your presence.
_Magn._ Where was it delyuered you, shewe vnto me.
_Magn._ At what place nowe, as you gesse?
_Fan._ By my trouthe, syr, at Pountesse; This wrytynge was taken me there, But neuer was I in gretter fere.
_Fan._ By God, at the see syde, 350 Had I not opened my purse wyde, I trowe, by our lady, I had ben slayne, Or elles I had lost myne eres twayne.
_Fan._ Ye, and there is suche a wache, That no man can scape but they hym cache. They bare me in hande that I was a spye; And another bade put out myne eye, Another wolde myne eye were blerde, Another bade shaue halfe my berde; 360 And boyes to the pylery gan me plucke, And wolde haue made me Freer Tucke, To preche out of the pylery hole, Without an antetyme or a stole; And some bade sere hym with a marke: To gete me fro them I had moche warke.
_Fan._ By my trouthe, had I not payde and prayde, And made largesse as I hyght, I had not ben here with you this nyght; 370 But surely largesse saued my lyfe, For largesse stynteth all maner of stryfe.
_Magn._ It dothe so sure nowe and than, But largesse is not mete for euery man.
_Fan._ No, but for you grete estates: Largesse stynteth grete debates; And he that I came fro to this place Sayd I was mete for your grace; And in dede, syr, I here men talke, By the way as I ryde and walke, 380 Say howe you excede in noblenesse, If you had with you largesse.
_Fan._ Ye, syr, a blannched almonde is no bene. Measure is mete for a marchauntes hall, But largesse becometh a state ryall. What, sholde you pynche at a peeke of otes, Ye wolde sone pynche at a pecke of grotes. 390 Thus is the talkynge of one and of oder, As men dare speke it hugger mugger; A lorde a negarde, it is a shame, But largesse may amende your name.