So, should some youth by fortune's blest decrees,
Possess at least a pound of Cheshire cheese,
And bent some favour'd party to regale,
Lay in a kilderkin, or so, of ale;
Lo, angry fate! In one unlucky hour
Some hungry rats may all the cheese devour,
And the loud thunder turn the liquor sour [forms his sash into a noose.]
Alas! alack! alack! and well-a-day,
That ever man should make himself away!
That ever man for woman false should die,