‘O father, put on your glove again,
The wind hath blown it from your hand.’
17.
‘What’s that thou sayst, thou limmer loon?
Or how dare thou stand to speak to me?
If thou do not end this quarrel soon,
Here is my hand, thou shalt fight me.’
18.
Christy Grahame is to his chamber gone,
And for to study, as well might be,