For there is of them good enough;
It is a sore consumed tree
That on it bears not one fresh bough.
Lord God! is not this a pitiful case,
That men dare not drive their goods to t’ fell,
But limmer thieves drives them away,
That fears neither heaven nor hell.
Lord, send us peace into the realm,
That every man may live on his own!
I trust to God, if it be his will,