I have a horse—a ryghte goode horse—
Ne doe I envye those
Who scoure ye playne yn headye course
Tyll soddayne on theyre nose
They lyghte wyth unexpected force—
Yt ys—a horse of clothes.
I have a saddel—“Say’st thou soe?
Wyth styrruppes, Knyghte, to boote?”
I sayde not that—I answere “Noe”—
Yt lacketh such, I woote:
Yt ys a mutton-saddel, loe!
Parte of ye fleecye brute.
I have a bytte—a ryghte good bytte—
As shall bee seene yn tyme.
Ye jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte;
Yts use ys more sublyme.
Fayre Syr, how deemest thou of yt?
Yt ys—thys bytte of rhyme.
