2320 Up springs into the air, right so prayéres Of charitable and chaste busy freres Makë their sours to Goddë’s earës two. Thomas, Thomas, so may I ride or go, And by that lord that callëd is Saint Ive, N’ere thou our brother, shouldest thou not thrive; 2321 In our chapíter pray we day and night To Christ, that he thee sendë health and might, Thy body for to wieldë hastily.” 2322

“God wot,” quoth he, “nothing thereof feel I; So help me Christ, as I in fewë years Have spended upon divers manner freres 2323 Full many a pound, yet fare I ne’er the bet; 2324 Certain my good have I almost beset: 2325 Farewell my gold, for it is all ago.” 2326