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.