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 k. Dif thi deid, quoth the Pape, pite I haife, Bot apon Jatur to pleyne, it is perrell ; J can nocht ſay ſudanelye, ſo me Criſt fait, Bot fall call my cardinallis and my counfall, Patriarkís and prophetis of lerit the laif; Thay ſalbe ſemblit full fone, that thow fe fall. We callit on his cubicular within his conclaif, That was the proper Pape Jaye provde in his apparale; Bad ſend for his ſecretar, and his fele ſone, That was the Turtour trewelt, ferme, faithfull, and falt, That bure that office honeſt, and enterit but hone. The Pape commandit but hone, to wryte in all landis, Be the ſaid ſecretar, that the fele zemyt, for all ttatis of kirk that wnder Critt ſtandis, To ſemble to his ſummondis, as it wele femyt. The trewe Turtour has tane with the tythandis, Done dewlie his det, as the deir demyt; Syne belyf ſend the letteris in to feir landis With the Swallowe, ſo ſwyft in ſpecial erpremit The Papis harrald, at poynt in to preſent, for he is forthwart to file, And ay will haue entre, Jn hous and in hall hie, To tell his entent.
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