It was a ronner; nay, fole, I warant her blode warme.
Magn. A, syr, thy iarfawcon and thou be hanged togyder!
Fol. And, syr, as I was comynge to you hyder,
I sawe a fox sucke on a kowes ydder,
And with a lyme rodde I toke them bothe togyder.
I trowe it be a frost, for the way is slydder: 1840
Se, for God auowe, for colde as I chydder.
Magn. Thy wordes hange togyder as fethers in the wynde.
Fol. A, syr, tolde I not you howe I dyd fynde
A knaue and a carle, and all of one kynde?