Ballad of Poor Chimneysweeps

Men talk of those the fields that till ;
Of those that sift out chaff from com :
Of him that has, will he or nill,
A wife that scoldeth night and morn, —
As folk hard driven and forlorn :
Of men that often use the sea ;
Of monks that of poor convents be ;
Of those behind the ass that go :
But, when all things consider we,
Poor chimneysweeps have toil eno'

To govern boys and girls with skill,
God wot, 's no labour lightly borne :
Nor to serve ladies at Love's will ;
Or do knight suit at sound of horn,
Helmet and harness always worn,
And follow arms courageously :
To joust and tilt with spears, perdie,
And quintain play, is hard, I know :
But, when all things consider we,
Poor chimneysweeps have toil eno'.

God wot, they suffer little ill
By whom wheat's reaped and meadows shorn ;
Or those that thresh grain for the mill
Or plead the Parliament beforne ;
To borrow money's little scorn ;
Tinkers and carters have to dree
But little hardship, seemeth me ;
Nor does Lent irk us much, I trow :
But, when all things consider we,
Poor chimneysweeps have toil eno'.