Will make our bodies fine, a prey to crows and vermine:
For they do mean all fens to drain, and waters overmaster,
All will be dry, and we must die, ‘cause Essex calves want pasture.
Away with boats and rudder, farewell both boots and skatches,
No need of one nor th’other, men now make better matches;
Stilt-makers all and tanners shall complain of this disaster:
For they will make each muddy lake for Essex calves a pasture.
The feathered fowls have wings, to fly to other nations;
But we have no such things to help our transportations;