Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny.
[065] Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,
[066] Of dumps so dull and heavy;
[067] The fraud of men was ever so,
[068] Since summer first was leavy:
Then sigh not so, &c.
070 D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song.
Balth. And an ill singer, my lord.
[072] D. Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift.