Upon Coone. Epig.

Meg yesterday was troubled with a pose,
Which, this night harden'd, sodders up her nose.

Long locks of late our zealot Peason wears,
Not for to hide his high and mighty ears;
No, but because he would not have it seen
That stubble stands where once large ears have been.

Skoles stinks so deadly, that his breeches loath
His dampish buttocks furthermore to clothe;
Cloy'd they are up with arse; but hope, one blast
Will whirl about, and blow them thence at last.

Cob clouts his shoes, and, as the story tells,
His thumb nails par'd afford him sparrables.

I lately fri'd, but now behold
I freeze as fast, and shake for cold.
And in good faith I'd thought it strange
T' have found in me this sudden change;
But that I understood by dreams
These only were but Love's extremes;
Who fires with hope the lover's heart,
And starves with cold the self-same part.

Lulls swears he is all heart; but you'll suppose
By his proboscis that he is all nose.