And he must loose his living for a song,
Alas he knew not how to right his wrong.
He knew his enemie had pointes of law,
To save his purse, fill his devouring mawe,
Yet thought the poore man how so it betide,
Ile make him give right sentence on my side.
Without delay unto the Man he goes,
And unto him this fayned tale doth gloze,
(Quoth he) my Cow which with your Oxe did feede,
Hath kild your Oxe and I make knowne the deede.