scathe

Therefore great Lords bee as your titles vvitnes, / Imperious, and impatient of your vvrongs, / And vvherein Rome hath done you any ſkath, / Let him make treable ſatisfaction.

The pride I trampled is now my scathe, / For it tramples me again.

They deemed it little scathe indeed / That her coarse homespun ragged weed / Fell off from her round arms and lithe / Laid on the door-post, that a withe / Of willows was her only belt; / And each as he gazed at her felt / As some gift had been given him.