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Sir; here's a Reformado, who being drunk,
He reeld about the street; and met a punck,

A Reformado.


Who had her waiting Maid; he took'em up,
In Druery lane; together they must sup;

a Belt paun'd.


He's charg'd with eighteen pence; and then he felt
Into his fob; but he must pawne his belt
To free his heeles. Did that discharge the score?
His Sword had gone too; but 'twas pawn'd before.
He'd take a lodging; but she scorn'd to swive
Under a Crown, with any man alive.
More night-work yet? Oh, her's a ramping Dame,
Compos'd with basenesse, impudence, and shame:
Pray, who'se your Clerk? thou lying paultry spie!
Do'st dare to prate to such a one as I?

Impudence.


If Courtiers were at home, and all the Peeres,
I should find friends; thou durst not for thy eares
Say half so much: for I took many a crown
Of Courtiers weekly; they being out of Town
My trading's low; but I was one that went
To cry for peace, and thousands, with intent
To force it on; and levell all our Forts,

Cry for Peace.


To let the King come in. But false reports

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Make us Malignants. I shall live to see

Malignant wishes.


Our Fortunes rais'd, and you as low as we:
Or higher by the Gallowes. Then wee'l sing,
Hang all the Round-heads: we are for the King.
Here's Impudence indeed!