That Vulcan at last grew wondrous poor,
He owed the Brewer and Baker so much,
They thretned to arrest him, his case it was such;
He went to his Anvill, to my pot and thine,
He turn'd out his Maid, he pul'd down his Signe,
But O (quoth the good Wife) why should we fail,
These things should not be, if we sell Ale.
The Smith and his boy went to work for some chink,
To pay for the liquor which others did drink