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Satire 12.

[VVhen Minia from hir Chamber downe descendeth]

VVhen Minia from hir Chamber downe descendeth,
All things belowe shee straight-waies discommendeth,
Queanes (quoth shee: how happs my Kitchen's thus disgrac't?
I were not wont to haue a spoone displac't,
Then straight tooth' Hall, where if a rushe she spies,
Where haue these slutts been brought-vp Lard shee cries?
Then faugh shee cries: out ont: what's this dus smell?
Must I bee serued thus? why Maides 'tis well.


So leauing them, tripping vppon hir toes,
Into hir shopp, t'ir prentizes shee goes,
Where if shee sees a boye but looke a wrie,
Why sauce-box, what stare you on shee'le crie?
And then shee plies hir worke which is a band,
Which to bee hemm'd, has hung tenn years in band.