And batchler was, and I a litle lad.
4.
So, tasting some of fortune’s sweete consayts,
I clapt the hoode, on shoulder, braue as son,
And hopt at length to bite at better bayts,
And fill my mouth, ere banket halfe were don:
Thus holding on, the course I thought to ron:
By many a feast my belly grue so big,
That Wolsey streight became a wanton twig.
5.