The boyle was up, we had good luck,
In frost for and in Snow:
When they did seek, then did we creep,
And plant in Ruffe-mans low.
To strawling Ken the Mort bings then,
To fetch loure for her cheats;
Duds & Ruffe-peck, Rombold by Harman beck,
And won by Maunders feats.
Ye Maunders all, stow what you stall,
To Rome Coves what so quire,