CLXXVII.

[Another version from MS. Sloane, 1489, fol. 17, written in the time of Charles I.]

Hic hoc, the carrion crow, For I have shot something too low: I have quite missed my mark, And shot the poor sow to the heart; Wife, bring treacle in a spoon, Or else the poor sow's heart will down.

CLXXVIII.

[Song of a little boy while passing his hour of solitude in a corn-field.]

Awa' birds, away! Take a little, and leave a little, And do not come again; For if you do, I will shoot you through, And there is an end of you.