A BOATING-MAN ther was at old Harwarde,
Was big of bones, strong, and somdel harde.
Wille cleped, al be that he was bigge,
Much was his playing, litel was his digge.
Wel i-knowen to ech marchaunt in toun
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And eek to pocos roamen up and doun,
And oon of hem a stout Carl for the nones
Who yaf him egges, beer, and good bolognes.
He pulled with the crew many a race
As fast as runs the gre-hound in a chace.
He bared his back when he went out to rowe,
Ne cared nought how much the wind did blowe.
His schert he leved on the boat-hous flore,
Ne rekned more than doth a barne dore.
But, ywis, him were lever than his scherte
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