For they were both drunk and could not reply,
To make an excuse as big as a lye.
But quoth the good wife, sweet hart do not rayl,
These things must be if we sell Ale.
He came home again and there he did see
His Wife kindly sitting on a man's knee,
And though he said little, yet he thought the more,
And who can blame the poor Wittall therfore.
He hug'd her and kist her though Vulcan stood by,
Which made him to grumble, and look all awry.