Or lend us a bushell of snow, or twayne,
And poynt us a day to pay hym agayne? 1045
Mery-reporte. I can not tell, for, by thys light, D iii b
I chept[212] not, nor borowed, none of hym this night.
But by suche shyfte as I wyll make
Thou shalte se soone what waye he wyll take.
Boy. Syr, I thanke you. Then I may departe. 1050
The Boy goth forth.
Mery-reporte. Ye, fare well, good sonne, wyth all my harte,
Now suche an other sorte[213] as here hath bene