She thankt the man, and she took his mony:
‘Now let us go to ’t,’ quoth he, ‘sweet hony:’
‘O stay,’ quoth she, ‘some respite make,
My father comes, he will me take.’
9
‘Alas!’ quoth the fryer, ‘where shall I run,
To hide me till that he be gone?’
‘Behinde the cloath run thou,’ quoth she,
‘And there my father cannot thee see.’
10