 | [A paire of spy-knaves] |  |
Old Doting Lust.
Neuer perswade me, for I will haue Besse,If I were elder, and her yeeres were lesse,
I haue outliu'd the weary lothsome liues
Of three old (good for nothing) worne-out wiues,
And now a yong one I intend to try,
For comfort to mine age before I dye.
Perswade me not, I will be rul'd by none,
Although to fourescore my gray head be growne:
I will haue one that shall be yong enough,
Preferring tender, before old and tough,
Neither passe I though foolish people say,
Yonder goes cold December, match'd with May.
Looke how his browes are swolne within his Hat,
For thus, my friends, I am resolu'd for that.
He that weares Horns, and neither knowes, nor thinks it,
And he that takes a Fly vnseene and drinkes it,
Should neuer with conceit themselues abuse:
For what the eye ne're sees, the heart ne're rues:
Come good-luck, bad-luck, Cuckolds luck betweene,
My fourescore old will marry yong sixteene.
| [A paire of spy-knaves] | |