Or quhat, gif I suld len thee heir
My bow and all my shuting geir,
Sum bodie to begyle?”
“That geir,” quod I, “can not be bocht,
Yet I wald haif it faine[1383].”
“Quhat gif,” quod he, “it coist thee nocht
Bot randring it againe?”
His wingis than he bringis than,
And band them on my back:
“Go flie now,” quod he now,