 | The knave of Clubbs |  |
A Whoremonger.
An ancient wooer matcht himselfe for gold,Vnto a widdow foure-score winters old,
Whose wholsome mony did beget good will
She brought him bags, 4. husbands help'd to fill.
As arrant misers as the earth containes,
which with their moyling care, and pessant paines
Had scraped thousands, yet euen such they were,
As Isis Asse which loads of gold did beare,
and was himselfe an obiect toyling beast,
burdned with that which be inioyed least.
This golden Grandham lou'd a cup of Sack,
Which her kind husband would not see her lack:
But willingly anights would make her drunke,
Because indeed he kept a seruant puncke,
Who when her mistres had it in the hed,
Would come and creepe into her maisters bed.
This held out long, vntil one night, kind Ione
Hearing her maister cough, and mistris grone,
prepared her selfe (the cough was still his call)
To tell the naked truth, she stript off all.
To doe her maisters busines in the night,
Such tumbling in the bed (belike) did keepe,
She wak'd her quiet mistris out of sleepe.
Who was by this recouered in the braine,
And gotten sober by her sleepe againe.
Perceiuing plainely how the matter went,
And why the kindnes of the Sack was ment,
Starts vp, and cries, ah whore am I your bawd?
Out wicked knaue, and with her nailes beclawd
Them cruelly, that Wench and Maister bled;
Then with her feete she spurn'd them out of bed.
The violence of that same furious fall,
Threw them both downe, with chamberpot & all.
So that the scratching, wash'd with filthy smell,
Did kill the itch like whipping in Bride-well.
| The knave of Clubbs | |