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,