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Eleg: 4.a|
Fond woman wch wouldst haue thy husband dy [f. 16]
And yet complaynst of his great iealosy.
If swolne wth poyson he lay in his last bed
His body wt a sere barke covered;
Drawing his breath as thick and short as can
The nimblest crocheting Musician,
Redy wt lothsome vomiting to spue
His Soule out of one hell into a new,
Made deafe wt his pure kindreds houling cryes
Begging wt few faignd teares great Legacies,
Thou wouldst not weepe, but ioly & frolick bee
As a Slave wch to morrow should be free.
Yet weepst thou when thou see'st him hungerly
Swallow his owne death, harts-bane iealosy.
Oh giue him many thankes hee'is courteous
That in suspecting kindly warneth vs.
We must not as we vs'd, flout openly
In scoffing riddles his deformity;
Nor at his boord together beeing sate
Wt words nor touche scarse lookes adulterate.
Nor when he swolne and pamperd wt great fare
Sitts downe and snorts cag'd in his basket chaire
Must we vsurpe his owne bed any more
Nor kis and play in his house as before.
Now I see many dangers, for yt is
His Realme, his Castle, and his Diocis.
But if as envyous men wch would revile
Their Prince, or coyne his gold, themselues exile
Into an other cuntry, & do it there,
We play'in an other house, what should we feare?
There we will skorne his houshould policyes,
His seely plotts & pensionary spyes,
As ye inhabitants of Thames right side
Do Londons Maior or Germans ye Popes pride.