quod he, alas that I was wrought! Therwith the teres fellen fro his eyen. His yonge sone, that three yere was of age, Unto him said, fader, why do ye wepe? Whan will the gailer bringen our potage? Is ther no morsel bred that ye do kepe? I am so hungry, that I may not slepe. Now wolde God that I might slepen ever, Than shuld not hunger in my wombe crepe; Ther n’is no thing, sauf bred, that me were lever. Thus day by day this childe began to crie, Til in his fadres barme adoun it lay, And saide, farewelj fader, I mote die; And kist his fader, and dide the same day. And whan the woful fader did it sey, For wo his armes two he gan to bite, And saide, alas! fortune, and wala wa! Thy false whele my wo all may I wite. His children wenden, that for hunger it was That he his armes gnowe, and not for wo, And sayden: fader, do not so, alas! But rather ete the flesh upon us two. Our flesh thou yaf us, take our flesh us fro, And ete ynough: right thus they to him seide, And after that, within a day or two, They laide hem in his lappe adoun, and deide. Himself dispeired eke for hunger starf. Thus ended is this mighty Erl of Pise: From high estat fortune away him carf.