 | To Rash Iudgement, Tom Foole, and his fellowes |  |
Plucke vp a good hart Neigbour.
Neighbour what ayles you looke, so colly molly,I veare you ouer grieue, and that's a volly:
Ther's nothing to be got with looking zad,
Vor too much griefe they zay, will make one mad.
Vayth Neighbour you zay true; but chaue a crosse,
I thinke vew men ha zuch another losse,
Vor a mans vancy, tho the thing's but small:
Cham zure you know my Dogg (oh Neighbour) Ball
Was the last night as well as you or I,
And now there is no hope but Ball will die:
And durst ene be zworne vpon a booke,
That with some Planakle the wretch is strooke:
It holdes him plaguy in the head, extreame;
My wife hath zod him a good messe of Creame,
And she nor I, could get him once to lapp.
Zure Neighbour, zure, this is a zore mishapp.
But now tis zo, why who can do withall,
For you and I must dye aswell as Ball;
Come letts goe drinke, and Plucke vp a good heart,
If Ball were hang'd, why friends you know, must part:
But were your hap before your Dogge to go,
Ball would not mourne to see his Maister so.
| To Rash Iudgement, Tom Foole, and his fellowes | |