thou make a feast on thilkë 1853 day That I was born, and make me fresh and gay; And but thou do to my norice 1854 honoúr, And to my chamberere 1855 within my bow’r, And to my father’s folk, and mine allies; 1856 Thus sayest thou, old barrel full of lies. And yet also of our prentice Jenkin, For his crisp hair, shining as gold so fine, And for he squireth me both up and down, Yet hast thou caught a false suspicioún: I will him not, though thou wert dead to-morrow. But tell me this, why hidest thou, with sorrow, 1857 The keyës of thy chest away from me? It is my good 1858 as well as thine, pardie.