Wycliffe(i)
16 And he tolde to hem a liknesse, and seide, The feeld of a riche man brouyte forth plenteuouse fruytis.
17 And he thouyte with ynne hym silf, and seide, What schal Y do, for Y haue not whidur Y schal gadere my fruytis?
18 And he seith, This thing Y schal do; Y schal throwe doun my bernes, and Y schal make gretter, and thidir Y schal gadir alle thingis that growen to me, and my goodis.
19 And Y schal seie to my soule, Soule, thou hast many goodis kept in to ful many yeeris; rest thou, ete, drynke, and make feeste.