Then may we talk and tellen our fill,
And make a mock at the blustering blast:
Now say on, Diggon, whatever thou hast.
DIG. Hobbin, ah Hobbin! I curse the stound
That ever I cast to have lorn this ground:
Well-away the while I was so fond
To leave the good, that I had in hond,
In hope of better that was uncouth,
So lost the dog the flesh in his mouth.
My silly sheep (ah! silly sheep!)