143,4.
She heard him make such pitiful moan
She hope [=holp] him out and bid him go home.
123,4.
Quoth the fryer, I never was servd so before:
‘Away,’ quoth the wench, ‘come here no more.’
161,2.
The fryer he walkd along the street
As if he had been a new-washd sheep.
Sing, hey down a derry, and let’s be merry, And from such sin ever keep.