Vente, gresle, gelle, j'ay mon pain cuit.
Frères humains qui après nous vivez […] Mais priez Dieu que tous nous veuille absouldre !
Vente, gresle, gelle, j'ay mon pain cuit.
Il n'est bon bec que de Paris.
Corps femenin, qui tant es tendre, Poly, souef*, si precieulx […].
Sur le Noël, morte saison, Que les loups se vivent de vent […].
Frères humains qui après nous vivez […] Mais priez Dieu que tous nous veuille absouldre !
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