Upon Doll. Epig.

No question but Doll's cheeks would soon roast dry,
Were they not basted by her either eye.

An old, old widow Greedy needs would wed,
Not for affection to her or her bed;
But in regard, 'twas often said, this old
Woman would bring him more than could be told.
He took her; now the jest in this appears,
So old she was, that none could tell her years.

Here she lies, in bed of spice,
Fair as Eve in paradise;
For her beauty, it was such,
Poets could not praise too much.
Virgins come, and in a ring
Her supremest requiem sing;
Then depart, but see ye tread
Lightly, lightly o'er the dead.

Feacie, some say, doth wash her clothes i' th' lie
That sharply trickles from her either eye.
The laundresses, they envy her good-luck,
Who can with so small charges drive the buck.
What needs she fire and ashes to consume,
Who can scour linens with her own salt rheum?

Scobble for whoredom whips his wife; and cries
He'll slit her nose; but blubb'ring, she replies,
Good sir, make no more cuts i' th' outward skin,
One slit's enough to let adultry in.

Sound teeth has Lucy, pure as pearl, and small,
With mellow lips, and luscious therewithal.