It was na for want of hose nor shone,

Nor time to pit them on.

11

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

An she has stoun the kees of the prison,

An latten Young Beachen gang.

12

She gae him a lofe of her whit bread,

An a bottel of her wine,