Þe market In Londoun, a woman hath a smal kichen. She came from far land few wekes ago. She knoweth almost no word. A neighebour cometh to ete this even. The market closeth soon. Hir bag is in hir hond. She hath money in hir bag. The seler standeth by the breed. She pointeth at the breed. “This, please.” The seler taketh milk and putteth it in hir bag. “No, no.” She pointeth at the breed eftsones. “This, please.” The seler taketh an appel and putteth it in hir bag. “No, no.” She pointeth at the breed yet eft. “That, please.” The seler taketh a cup and putteth it in hir bag. “No, no.” The seler loketh at hir hond and hir face. “This?” She seith, “Yes.” He taketh out the cup. “No?” She seith, “Yes, no.” He putteth down the cup. The seler stonteth stille. He taketh the breed in bothe hondes. “This is breed, good woman.” She seith, “Bred.” The seler seith, “Breed, dame.” She seith, “Breed.” He putteth the breed in hir bag. She seith, “How much?” He seith, “Two pens.” She taketh two pens from hir bag. He taketh the pens. He taketh a seconde breed. He putteth it in hir bag. She seith, “No, no.” He seith, “Yes, yes.” She seith, “No money?” He seith, “No more money.” She seith, “Thank you.” He seith, “Yes.” She seith, “Thank you.” The seler putteth the milk beside the cup. She seith, “No, no.” He taketh the milk away. He giveth hir the bag. She holdeth the bag with bothe hondes. The seler seith, “Breed.” She seith, “Breed.” She walketh hom by the market. She seith, “Breed.” She openeth hir dore. She seith, “Breed.” At hir dore, hir neighebour stondeth at the top of the staires.