And says he will make my dwelling all bare,
So then I must bribe him, with one mark or more,
Although I at the set day should sell my own mare;
Thus the green wax grieves us neath our garments poor,
So that men hunt us as hound does the hare.
They hunt us as hound does a hare on a hill;
Since I took to the land such woe I've been taught.
The beadles have never had quite all their fill,
For they slip away, and it's we who are caught.
Thus I catch and I carry cares that are cold,