For when that we have bit the blow,
We carry away the game.
But if the cully naps us,
And the lurries from us takes;
O, then he rubbs us to the whit,[221]
Tho’ we’re hardly worth two makes.[222]
And when that we come to the whit,
Our darbies to behold;
We’re forced to do penance there,
And booze the water cold.