And in my purse was twenty marke.
Fol. Ha, ha, ha! herke, syrs, harke!
For all that my name hyght Foly,
By the masse, yet art thou more fole than I.
Fan. Yet gyue me thy dogge, and I am content;
And thou shalte haue my hauke to a botchment.
Fol. That euer thou thryue, God it forfende!
For Goddes cope thou wyll spende.
Nowe take thou my dogge, and gyue me thy fowle.[815]
Fan. Hay, chysshe, come hyder! 1130