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A MARCHANT was ther with a forked berd,
In mottelee, and hye on horse he sat;
Upon his heed a Flaundryssh bever hat,
His bootes clasped faire and fetisly.
His resons he spak ful solempnely,
Sownynge alway th'encrees of his wynnyng. †
He wolde the see were kept for any thyng †
Bitwixe Middelburgh and Orewelle.
Wel koude he in eschaunge sheeldes selle. †
This worthy man ful wel his wit bisette;
Ther wiste no wight that he was in dette, †
So estatly was he of his governaunce
With his bargaynes and with his chevyssaunce.
For sothe, he was a worthy man with-alle,
But, sooth to seyn, I noot how men hym calle.
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