The Smith went to his work every day,
But still one or other would call him away,
For now he had got him the name of an Host,
It cost him many a Pot and a Toste.
Beside much precious time he now lost,
And thus the poor Smith was every day crost,
But quoth the good wife, sweet hart do not rayl
These things must be if we sell Ale.
Men run on the score, and little they paid,
Which made the poor Smith be greatly dismaied,