I am nothinge a colde;
I stuffe my skyn so full within
Of joly good ale and olde.
Backe and syde go bare, go bare, etc.
I love no rost but a nut browne toste
And a crab layde in the fyre.[675]
A lytle bread shall do me stead:
Much breade I not desyre.
No froste nor snow, no winde, I trowe,
Can hurte mee if I wolde;