Speaketh up Sir Amos bolde
Stronge his arm and axillae withalle
Sir Amos who with grontes golde
Did sore ycled and yield trallalle!
Sayethe he This doth become
Naughte butte a way to theel and thum
All dawn til duske doth beate a drumme
And I hath feeleth mickle dum!
Nonne answerd him nonne to he spok
Yet perchance a yonge afrited byrd
Didst gyre and snatche a frogge to croke
And swiven swan untille it broke!