 | The Knave of Harts |  |
A swearing Knaue.
What God commands, this wretched creature lothes,And neuer names his Maker but by othes:
And weares a tongue of such a damned fashion,
That swearing is his onely recreation:
In morning, euen as soone as he doth rise,
He sweares that sleepe is scarcely out his eyes:
Then makes him ready, swearing all the while,
The drowsie weather did him much beguile.
Got ready, he to Dice, or Tables goes,
Swearing by God at euery cast he throwes.
To dinner next, and then (in stead of grace)
He sweares his stomacke is in hungry case.
No sooner din'd, but cals, Come, take away,
And sweares, tis late, he must goe see a Play:
There sits and sweares to all he heares and sees;
That Speech is good, that Action disagrees.
So takes his Oares, & sweares, he must make hast,
His houre of Supper-tune is almost past.
You neuer haue his tongue from swearing free,
Vnlesse in's mouth Tobacco-pipe there be.
| The Knave of Harts | |