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.