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I.
I
cannot tell, who loves the skeleton
Of a poor
marmoset; nought but boan, boan;
Give me a nakednesse,
with her cloath's on.
II.
Such, whose white-sattin
upper coat of skin,
Cut upon velvet rich incarnadin,
Has yet a body (and of flesh) within.
III.
Sure, it is meant good husbandry in men,
Who do
incorporate with aery leane,
T' repair their sides,
and get their ribb agen.
IV.
Hard hap unto
that huntsman, that decrees
Fat joys for all his swet,
when as he sees,
After his 'say, nought but his
keepers fees.
V.
Then, Love, I beg, when next
thou tak'st thy bow,
Thy angry shafts, and dost
heart-chasing go,
Passe RASCALL DEARE, strike me the
largest doe.
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