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A mastif whelp with other ruff-Island-lik Currs fetcht from amongst the Antipedes

Which bite and barke at the fantasticall humorists and abusers of the time [by William Goddard]

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Satire 31.

[Prouda: your Father on his death-bedd lies]

Prouda : your Father on his death-bedd lies,
Tis tenn to one, within this howre hee dies.
For God-sake Prouda while as hee doth liue,
Goe vnto him; & his greate faulte forgiue.
Hee dus desire the same: hee praies that hee
(E're die) to you may reconciled bee.
For God-sake Prouda let his latest breath
Make you a mendes: hee'le seale the same with Death.
Were I a maide, my Father should be bould
To saie, & saie againe that I were old.
Alas your father takes it on his death,
Hee ment noe harme with vtt'ring of that breath.
Hee vowes, hee little thought to woman-kinde,
That saying would haue troubled so their minde.
Good yong-Prouda, now shewe your selfe t' aue witt,
And but vnto his death hate him for it.