_Bing out bien Morts, and toure, and toure, Bing out bien Morts, and toure; For all your Duds are bing’d awast The bien Cove hath the loure. I met a Dell, I view’d her well, She was benship to my watch; So she and I did stall, and cloy, Whatever we could catch. This Doxie Dell can cut bien whids, And wap fell for a win; And prig and cloy so benshiply, All the Deusea-vile within. The boyle was up, we had good luck, In frost for and in Snow: When they did seek, then did we creep, And plant in Ruffe-mans low. To strawling Ken the Mort bings then, To fetch loure for her cheats; Duds & Ruffe-peck, Rombold by Harman beck, And won by Maunders feats. Ye Maunders all, stow what you stall, To Rome Coves what so quire, And wapping Dell, that niggles well, And takes loure for her hire. And Jybe well jerckt, teck rome confect, For back by glymmar to Maund; To mill each ken, let Cove bing then, Through Ruff-mans, jague, or Laund, Till Crampings quire tip Cove his hire; And Quire Ken do them catch, A Canniken, mill quire Cuffin, So quire to ben Coves watch. Bien Darkmans then, Bouse Mort and Ken, The bien Coves bings awast, On Chates to trine by Rome Coves dine, For his long lib at last. Bing’d out bien Morts and toure, and toure, Bing out of the Rome vile bine, And toure the Cove that cloyd your duds, Vpon the Chates to trine._