Y'E FOE TO CATHAYE

O never an oathe sweares he,

And never a pig-taile jerkes;

With a brick-batte he ne lurkes

For to buste y'e crust, perdie,

Of y'e man from over sea,

A-synging as he werkes.

For he knows ful well, y's youth,

A tricke of exceeding worth:

And he plans withouten ruth

A conflagration's birth!

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