Therefore, if’t be thy true desire,
We chaunt thy lauds at Easter quire.
Let not thy saintship think it meet
We drink from well tho’ ne’er so sweet,
Liquor unworthy priest or parson,
If so, your friers will hang an arse on,
Who nothing mind, I need not tell ye,
Most holy patron, but their belly.
So used, they’ll ev’ry soul be dumb,
No dixit dominus, but ———— mum.”