Yt felle oute that Jane hir Fole sat to borde wythe Sr Frauncys Drayke, Sr John Hawkynnes & Sr Water Ralegh, and cast ffor them divers ryddles about menne wythe no armes nor no legges neyther, as ffolloweth:
"What dost thou call a ffellowe wythe no armes and no legges on ye beache?" "Sandy."
"Yn ye ocean?" "Bob."
"Yn ye sea, pulld at greate spede behynde ye galleon Dreadnought yn fulle sayle?" "Skip."
"Yn ye poste-boxe, and thou hatest hymme?" "Bill."
And so they carowsd, callynge out ye names; yn a bushe he ys Russell; in a boke, Mark; yn a dytche, Phil ("And soone, G-d wyllynge!" crieth Sr Frauncys, meanynge Kg Phillip ye foul Spanysh monarche); yn a ponde, turnynge yn a cyrcle slowlie, Eddy; & so forthe, untylle Hawkynnes, tiring of Jane's tedyousnesse, dydde barke a heel of bread off her pate, & out they broughte strayghte ye dyce & cardes, and ynsteade dydde trayde golde sovrgns. untylle daie-breake.
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