Now reckon our shot, and go we home,
What cometh to each of us but threepence?
Pardye, that is but a small expense
For such a sort, and all but sport.
Turn down the street when ye come out,
And we will compass around about.
Gossip, quoth Anne, what needeth that doubt,
Your husbands be pleased when ye be eased.
Whatsoever any man think,
We come for naught but for good drink.
Now let us go home and wink,
For it may be seen where we have been.
This is the thought that gossips take.
Once in a week merry they will make,
And all small drinks they will forsake;
But wine of the best shall have no rest.
Some be at the tavern thrice in the week,
And so be some every day eke,
Or else they will groan and make them seek,
For things used will not be refused.
We have thrown our net almost at random; yet there are few palates which will not have found something to please them among the specimens which we have brought together. Let us repeat our hope that the entire collection may before long be committed to the more secure custody, as well as the more accessible form, of a printed volume.
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