| | A nay let be the philosophris stoon | |
| | Elixer we clepyn we sekyn fast echon | |
| 145 | For hadde we hym than were we sikir Inowe | |
| | But vnto god of heuyn I make auowe | |
| | For al our craft when we haue al y do | |
| | And al our sleyghte he wol not come vs to | |
| | He hath maad vs spende muche good | |
| 150 | For sorow therof almost we wexen wood | |
| | But that good hope crepith in our herte | |
| | Supposing euer though we sore smerte | |
| | To be releuyd by hym aftirwarde | |
| | Suche supposinge I hope is hard | |
| 155 | I warne you weel it is to seken euyr | |
| | That future temps hath made me disseuyr | |
| | In trust wher of al that euer they hadde | |
| | Yet of that art they konne not wexe sad | |
| | For vnto hem it is a bittir swete | |
| 160 | So semyth it for ne had they but a shete | |
| | Whiche that mighte wrappyn hem ynne a night | |
| | And a brate to walkyn ynne be day light | |
| | They wolde it selle and spende it in this craft | |
| | They can not stynte til nothing belast | |
| 165 | And euermore where euyr that they goon | |
| | Men may hem kenne be smel of brymstoon | |
| | For al the worlde they stynkyn as a goot | |
| | Her sauour is so rammysh and so hoot | |
| | That though a man a myle from hem be | |
| 170 | The sauour wol enfecte hem trustith me | |
| | Lo thus by smellyng and thredbare aray | |
