No carpenter could by his trade
Gain so much coyn as to have made
A gown of so rich stuff.
Yet they, poor fools, think, for their credit,
They may believe old Joseph did it,
’Cause he deserv’d enough.
There is one of the crosses nails,
Which whoso sees, his bonnet vails,
And if he will, may kneel.
Some say ’twas false, ’twas never so,