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. |