But quoth the good wife, sweet hart do not rayl,
These things must be, if we sell Ale.
A Sort of Saylers were drinking one night,
And when they were drunk began for to fight,
The Smith came to part them, as some do report,
And for his good will was beat in such sort
That he could not lift his arms to his head,
Nor yet very hardly creep up to his bed.
But quoth the good wife, sweet hart do not rayl,