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[.]