As though they were made but for plunder of men;
No goose dare even venture out into the meadow,
These gents with their swords would soon whip off its head oh.
Are gardens with boards and bars all fenced too?
They burst them asunder that the sun doth shine through;
In clambering for apples the trees too they break,
'Tis well if each home but a pocketful take.
With fire and with powder we're in constant fears,
That e'en our small house be burnt over our ears;
Their crackers they let on our roofs hop and bound,