Nor lackes he gleeful tales to tell,
Whil'st round the bole doth trot;
And sitteth singing care away,
Till he to bed hath got.
Theare sleeps he soundly all the night,
Forgetting morrow cares,
Nor feares he blasting of his corne
Nor uttering of his wares,
Or stormes by seas, or stirres on land,
Or cracke of credite lost,