If it had ben no better then myne,
It had gone nere thy bone.’
28
‘Yelde the, Cloudesle,’ sayd the justise,
‘And thy bowe and thy arrowes the fro:’
‘Gods curse on hys hart,’ sayde fair Alce,
‘That my husband councelleth so.’
29
‘Set fyre on the house,’ saide the sherife,
‘Syth it wyll no better be,