The Answer
21. Your mare is lame; she halts downe right,
Then shall we not get to London to night:
You cry’d ho, ho, mon[e]y made her go,
But now I well perceive it is not so[.]
You must spur her up, and put her to’t
Though mon[e]y will not make her goe, your spurs will do’t.
[p. 72.]