Singe care away, with sport and playe,
   pastime is all our pleasure ;
Yf well we fare, for nought we care,
   In mearth consists our treasure.
Let lungis lurke, and druges work,
   We doe defie their slaverye ;
He is but a foole, that goes to schole,
   All we delight in braverye.

What doth't availe farr hence to saile,
   And leade our life in toylinge ;
Or to what end shoulde we here spende
   Our dayes in urksome moylinge.
It is the best to live at rest
   And tak't as God doth send it ;
To haunt ech wake and mirth to make,
   And with good fellowes spend it.