Well done, gentle Jone, why begin you to moan?
Though they be gone, I am in place.
And now will I dance, and now will I prance,
For why I have none other work:
Snip snap, butter is no bone meat:
Knave's flesh is no pork.
Hey tisty-toisty, an owl is a bird,
Jackanapes hath an old face;
You may believe me at one bare word,
How like you, this merry case?