‘Art thou not lowsye nor scabbed?’ quoth hee;
‘If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with me.’
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This caused our king suddenly to laugh most hartilye
Till the teares trickled downe from his eyes.
Then to there supper were thé sett orderlye,
To hott bag-puddings and good apple-pyes;
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle,
Which did about the bord merrilye troule.
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