 | Hvmors Looking Glasse |  |
Epigram.
[Sira, come hether boy, take view of mee]
Sira, come hether boy, take view of mee,My Lady I am purpos'd to goe see:
What doth my feather flourish with a grace,
And this same doo bleset ebecome my face,
How descent doth this doublet to me appeare
(I would I had my sute in hound-stitch heere)
Do not my spurs pronounce a finer sounde?
Do's not my hose circumference profounde?
Sirth seate well, but there is one thing ill,
Your Tailour with a sheete of paper bill,
Vowes heel'e be paid and Servants he had feed,
Which wayte your comming forth to do thy deede:
Boy god-amercy let my Lady stay,
Ile see no counter for her face to day.
| Hvmors Looking Glasse | |