A Frankëlin 116 was in this company; White was his beard, as is the daïsy. Of his complexión he was sanguíne. Well lov’d he in the morn a sop in wine. To liven in delight was ever his won, 117 For he was Epicurus’ owen son, That held opinion, that plein 118 delight Was verily felicity perfíte. An householder, and that a great, was he; Saint Julian 119 he was in his countrý. His bread, his ale, was alway after one; 120 A better envined 121 man was nowhere none; Withouten bake-meat never was his house,