He left her neane her bed to right,
Nor neane for to had up her head.
Next day when he came to the town,
He ran to see his mear with speed,
He thought she had fawn in a swoon,
But when he try’d she was cald dead.
It’s ever alas! but what remeed,
Had she play’d me this at Michaelmas,
It wad a studden me in geud steed,
And sav’d me both yeats, hay and grass.