With hym ther was a Plowman, was his broother,
That hadde ylad of donge ful many a foother.
A trewe swynkere and a good was he,
Lyvynge in pees and parfit charitee.
God loved he best with al his hoole herte
At alle tymes, thogh hym gamed or smerte,
And thanne his neighebore right as hymselve.
He wolde thresshe, and therto dyke and delve, 2
For Cristes sake, for every povre wight,
Withouten hyre, if it lay in his myght.
His tythes payde he ful faire and wel,
Both of his propre swynk and his catel.
In a tabard he rood upon a mere.