Our noting books (O rotten whore!) return!"No doit thou car'st? O Mire! O Stuff O' stews!Or if aught fouler filthier dirt there be.Yet must we never think these words suffice. But if naught else avail, at least a blushForth of that bitch-like brazen brow we'll squeeze.Cry all together in a higher key"Restore (O rotten whore!) our noting books,Our noting books (O rotten whore!) restore !" Still naught avails us, nothing is she moved.Now must our measures and our modes be changedAn we would anywise our cause advance."Restore (chaste, honest Maid!) our noting books!"
To MAMURRA'S MISTRESS
Hail, girl who neither nose of minim sizeOwns, nor a pretty foot, nor jetty eyes,Nor thin long fingers, nor mouth dry of slaverNor yet too graceful tongue of pleasant flavour,Leman to Formian that rake-a-hell.What, can the Province boast of thee as belle?Thee with my Lesbia durst it make compare?