37
‘I, marry,’ quoth our king, ‘that were a daintye thing,
If wee cold gett one heere for to eate.’
With that, Dicke straight arose, and plucket one out of his h[ose,]
Which with heat of his breech began for to sweate.
The king made profer to snatch it away;
‘It’s meate for your master, good sir, you shall stay!’
38
Thus with great merriment was the time wholy spent,
And then the ladyes prepared to dance.