That ever I saw a sort in such a plight,[187]
As here within this house appeareth to my sight,
There is howling and scowling, all cast in a dump,
With whewling and puling, as though they had lost a trump.
Sighing and sobbing, they weep and they wail.
I marvel in my mind what the devil they ail.
The old trot sits groaning with alas and alas,[188]
And Tib wrings her hands and takes on in worse case.
With poor Cock their boy, they be driven in such fits,
I fear me the folks be not well in their wits.