The fauconer then was prest[611],
Came runnyng with a dow,
And cryed, Stow, stow, stow!
But she would not bow.
He then, to be sure,
Callid her with a lure.
Her mete[612] was very crude,
She had not wel endude;
She was not clene ensaymed,
She was not well reclaymed: 80