In such a wofull manner that
Their very hearts went pit a pat;
The stately rooms, where kings once lay
But the contractors show’d the way.
But mark what now I tell you, pray,
’Tis worth it.
That book I told you of before,
Wherein were tenants written store,
A register for many more
Not forth yet,
That very book, as it did lie,
Took of a flame, no mortall eye
Seeing one jot of fire thereby,
Or taper;
For all the candles about flew,
And those that burned, burned blew,
Never kept soldiers such a doe
Or vaper.
The book thus burnt and none knew how
The poore contractors made a vow
To work no more; this spoil’d their plow
In that place.
Some other part o’ th’ house they’ll find,
To which the divell hath no mind,
But hee, it seems, is not inclin’d
With that grace;
But other pranks it plaid elsewhere.
An oake there was stood many a yeere,
Of goodly growth as any where,
Was hewn down,
Which into fewell-wood was cut,
And some into a wood-pile put,
But it was hurled all about
And thrown down.