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Piers Plowman Song

“Come go with us,” the pilgrims said,
“since you know the way.”
“Half an acre must be plowed
before I can away,”
quoth Piers the faithful plowman
a sickle in his hand.

“What will we work at while we wait?”
a lady asked of Piers.
“Good ladies with your fingers long,
sew silk and sendel dear.
Wives and widows spin flax
to make the harvest sacks.”

“By Christ and Virgin,” quoth a knight,
“he teaches us the best.
I’d help ye Piers Plowman
but I know none the rest.
Father taught me sword play,
But never planting hay.”

“Good sir knight,” said Piers then,
“I’ll plow for all of us.
Thou must keep me safe from thieves
for that is only just.
Hunt hares and bucks, and birds wild
that trample down my field.”

The knight, he drew his sword then,
and answered courteously,
“Piers Plowman, by my power
I plight my troth to thee,
defend thee will I, to the death
while yet I draw breath.

My listeners draw you closer still
and learn you from my song.
Each of us dependant is
as we go along.
For hearth and home and corn yet,
We’re in each others debt.

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