Peace, peace, my good Lord Boles,
And of your Speeches set them by;
If there be Eleven Grimes all of a Name,
Then by my own Honour they all should dye.
Then came down my good Lady Ward,
Falling low upon her Knee;
Five hundred Measures of Gold I'll give,
And grant Sir Hugh of the Grime to me.
Peace, peace, my good Lady Ward,
None of your proffers shall him buy,