No; she’s lame going over a stile,

But if thou wilt her to me spare

Thou shalt have mony for thy mare:

Oh say you so, say you so,

Mon[e]y will make my mare to go.

THE ANSWER.

21. Your mare is lame; she halts downe right,

Then shall we not get to London to night:

You cry’d ho, ho, mon[e]y made her go,

But now I well perceive it is not so[.]