 | Lucasta |  |
To Rufus.
That no fair woman will, wonder not whyClap (Rufus) under thine her tender thigh;
Not a silk gown shall once melt one of them,
Nor the delights of a transparent gemme
A scurvy story kills thee, which doth tell
That in thine armpits a fierce goat doth dwell.
Him they all fear-full of an ugly stinch,
Nor's 't fit he should lye with a handsome wench;
Wherefore this Noses cursed plague first crush,
Or cease to wonder why they fly you thus.
| Lucasta | |