Till he'd alter'd his diet,
And promised he'd never go angling more.
Which to one of his taste, you may be pretty sure,
Would have been a great bother, a plague, and a bore.
'T was a morning in May,
And a beautiful day,
The little cock sparrows were chirping away,
When the friar, awoke by the birds or the fleas,
Quickly rose, gave a yawn, and a cough and a sneeze,
And threw himself into his clothes with great ease.