and a crab layde in the fyre;
A lytle bread shall do me stead,
much bread I not desyre.
No froste nor snow, no winde, I trow,
can hurte me if I wolde,
I am so wrapt, and throwly lapt
of joly good ale, and olde.
Back and syde go bare, go bare,
booth foote and hande go colde;
But belly, God sende thee good ale ynoughe,