And forth he went, no longer would he tarry,
Into the town to an apothecary,
And prayed him that he him woulde sell
Some poison, that he might his rattes quell,
And eke there was a polecat in his haw,
That, as he said, his eapons had y-slaw:
And fain he would him wreak, if that he might,
Of vermin that destroyed him by night.
Th'apothecary answer'd, "Thou shalt have
A thing, as wisly God my soule save,
In all this world there is no creature
That eat or drank hath of this confecture,
Not but the mountance of a corn of wheat,
That he shall not his life anon forlete;
Yea, sterve he shall, and that in lesse while
Than thou wilt go apace nought but a mile:
This poison is so strong and violent."
This cursed man hath in his hand y-hent
This poison in a box, and swift he ran
Into the nexte street, unto a man,
And borrow'd of him large bottles three;
And in the two the poison poured he;
The third he kepte clean for his own drink,
For all the night he shope him for to swink
In carrying off the gold out of that place.
And when this riotour, with sorry grace,
Had fill'd with wine his greate bottles three,

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