And theye war on the Byschope sett
Lyke poynter on his game.
The Byschope turnit him runde aboute
To se quhat he mocht se,
Scho strak ane clawe in ilken lug,
And throu the rofe did flee.
The katt went throu withouten stop
Lyke schado throu the daye,
But the great Byschopis fleschlye forme
Made all the rofe gif waye;