THE ANSWER.

21. Your mare is lame; she halts downe right,

Then shall we not get to London to night:

You cry’d ho, ho, mon[e]y made her go,

But now I well perceive it is not so[.]

You must spur her up, and put her to’t

Though mon[e]y will not make her goe, your spurs will do’t.

[p. 72.]