Deare

By Halliedame, quoth she, and Gods oune mother, / I well perceaue yow are a wylie brother. / For if there be a morsell of more price, / Yow'l smell it out, though I be ner'e so nice. / As yow desire, so shall yow swiue with hir, / But think your purse-strings shall abye-it deare ...