And with him swarms there did appear
Of piots hopping at his back.
The carrion craw she was not slack,
Aw cled into her mourning weed,
With her resorted mony a mack
Of greedy kite and hungry gleede.
When they were aw conven’d compleat,
And every yean had taen their place;
So rudely they fell tea their meat,
But nane thought on to say the grace.