The cobbler he sits cobbling till none,
And cobbleth his shoes till they be done;
Yet doth he not feare, and so doth say,
For he knows his worke will soone decay.
Who liveth so merry and maketh such sport
As those that be of the poorest sort?
The poorest sort wheresoever they be,
They gather together by one, two, and three.
Broomes for old shoes! pouch-rings, bootes and buskings!
Will yee buy any new broomes?