She is a trul of trust,[338] to serve a frier at his lust,

A prycker, a pauncer, a terer of shetes,[339]

A wagger of buttockes[340] when other men slepes.

Go home, ye knaves, and lay crabbes in the fyre,

For my lady and I wil daunce in the myre, for veri pure joye.

ROBYN HODE.

Lysten to [me], my mery men all,

And harke what I shall say ;

Of an adventure I shall you tell,

That befell this other daye.