Ne’re talk to me, I will not stay amongst ye,
     Debaush’d and ignorant lazie knaves I found ye,
     And fools I leave ye.  I have taught these twenty years,
     Preacht spoon-meat to ye, that a Child might swallow,
     Yet ye are Block-heads still:  what should I say to ye? 
     Ye have neither faith, nor mony left to save ye,
     Am I a fit companion for such Beggers?

     1.

     If the Shepheard will suffer the sheep to be scab’d, Sir—­

     Lop.

     No, no ye are rotten.

     Die.

     Would they were, for my sake.

     Lap.

     I have Nointed ye, and Tarr’d ye with my Doctrine,
     And yet the Murren sticks to ye, yet ye are Mangy,
     I will avoid ye.

     2.

     Pray ye, Sir, be not angry,
     In the pride of your new Cassock, do not part with us,
     We do acknowledge ye are a careful Curate,
     And one that seldom troubles us with Sermons,
     A short slice of a Reading serves us, Sir,
     We do acknowledge ye a quiet Teacher,
     Before you’ll vex your Audience, you’ll sleep with ’em,
     And that’s a loving thing.

     3.

     We grant ye, Sir,
     The only benefactor to our Bowling,
     To all our merry Sports the first provoker,
     And at our Feasts, we know there is no reason,
     But you that edifie us most, should eat most.

     Lop.

     I will not stay for all this, ye shall know me
     A man born to a more beseeming fortune
     Than ringing all-in, to a rout of Dunces.

     4.

     We will increase your Tithes, you shall have Eggs too,
     Though they may prove most dangerous to our Issues.

     1.

     I am a Smith; yet thus far out of my love,
     You shall have the tenth Horse I prick, to pray for,
     I am sure I prick five hundred in a year, Sir.

     2.

     I am a Cook, a man of a dri’d Conscience,
     Yet thus far I relent:  you shall have tith Pottage.

     3.

     Your stipend shall be rais’d too, good Neighbour Diego.

     Die.

     Would ye have me speak for ye?  I am more angry,
     Ten times more vex’d, not to be pacified: 
     No, there be other places for poor Sextons,
     Places of profit, Friends, fine stirring places,
     And people that know how to use our Offices,
     Know what they were made for:  I speak for such Capons? 
     Ye shall find the Key o’th’ Church
     Under the door, Neighbours,
     You may go in, and drive away the Dawes.

     Lop.