The truth is, thou aswagest few mens hunger,
And hast no faithfull friend but the Fishmonger.
There's little danger to attend on me,
When men are drownd at Sea to furnish thee.
Pease pottage, and dryde beanes, by proofe we find,
Offends and fills men with unwholsome wind,
And ere I'le be a slave and pinch my maw
I'le breake all Proclamation, rule and Law,
Wee'le fill our Tubs with powdred flesh, beside
By licenc't Butchers we will be supplyde