The fift depth.
1
Our babes doe knovve noe sires,
And they that gaue the breast
Doe sitt, and sighe, & roare, & cry,
Ne can they take their rest.
2
Our drinke to vs is sold,
Our vvood vve buy full deare,
And all this ill is come on vs
For thee vve did not feare.
3
Our neckes are prest vvith yokes
On vs they lie full sore.
We moile, & toyle, & haue noe rest
O lord vvhat vvilt thou more
4
To those that be our foes
For bread vve giue our hands
They tire on vs, & make a prey,
They breake in to our lands.
5
They that are dead, & gone,
O lord haue done the sinne,
And vve poore soules doe pay the price.
These take vs in their gin.
6
Base slaues vvhom vve did beate,
Ore vs novve rule, and tire,
& there is none that doth vs helpe
Our feete stickes in the mire.
