⁠Was Herod moved, it is no lie,
To lop the head of Baptist John
⁠For dance and jig and psaltery;
Good luck has he that deals with none!

Next of myself I tell, poor me,
⁠How thrashed like clothes at wash was I
Stark naked, I must needs agree;
⁠Who made me eat so sour a pie
⁠But Katherine of Vaucelles? thereby,
Noé took third part of that fun;
⁠Such wedding‑gloves are ill to buy;
Good luck has he that deals with none!

But for that young man fair and free
⁠To pass those young maids lightly by,
Nay, would you burn him quick, not he;
⁠Like broom‑horsed witches though he fry,