Ouer the hedge and pale,
And all for the good ale.
Some renne tyll they swete,
Brynge wyth them malte or whete,
And dame Elynour entrete
To byrle them of the best.
Than cometh an other gest; 270
She swered by the rode of rest,
Her lyppes are so drye,
Without drynke she must dye;