He laugh'd aloud, and made the wickedst Ballads—
1 Sold. 'Tis like enough: he never lov'd his parents;
Nor can I blame him, for they ne'r lov'd him.
His Mother dream'd before she was deliver'd
That she was brought abed with a Buzzard, and ever after
She whistl'd him up to th' world: his brave clothes too
He has flung away, and goes like one of us now:
Walks with his hands in's pockets, poor and sorrowfull,
And gives the best instructions.—
2 Sold. And tells stories