But when we come out again,
And the merry cull we meet,
We’ll surely file him of his cole,[223]
As he pikes along the street.
And when that we have filed him,
Tho’t be but half a job;
Then ev’ry man to the boozing ken,
To fence his merry hog;[224]
But if the cully naps us,
For want of care or wit,