2. _I will not tell what shrieks and cries,_ _What angry pishes, and what fies,_ _What pretty oaths then newly born,_ _The list'ning taper heard there sworn:_ _Whiles froward she_ _Most peevishly_ _Did yielding fight_ _To keep o'er night,_ _What she'd have proffer'd you ere morn._ 3. _Fair, we know, maids do refuse_ _To grant what they do come to lose._ _Intend a conquest, you that wed;_ _They would be chastely ravished._ _Not any kiss_ _From Mistress Pris,_ _If that you do,_ _Persuade and woo:_ _Know pleasure's by extorting fed._ 4. _O, may her arms wax black and blue_ _Only by hard encircling you:_ _May she round about you twine,_ _Like the easy-twisting vine;_ _And whiles you sip_ _From her full lip_ _Pleasures as new_ _As morning dew,_ _Let those soft ties your hearts combine._ SINGER. God give you joy, Master Meanwell! God give your worship good morrow! RHYME. Come, let's be going. CHRIS. Hold, a blow I'll have, One jerk at th' times, wrapp'd in a benediction O' th' spouse's teeming, and I'll go with you. _A Song._ _Now thou, our future brother,_ _That shalt make this spouse a mother,_ _Spring up, and Dod's blessing on't.[224]_ _Show thy little sorrel pate,_ _And prove regenerate,_ _Before thou be brought to the font._ _May the parish surplice be_ _Cut in pieces quite for thee,_ _To wrap thy soft body about;_ _So 'twill better service do,_ _Reformed thus into_ _The state of an orthodox clout._ _When thou shalt leave the cradle,_ _And shalt begin to waddle,_ _And trudge in thy little apron;_ _May'st thou conceive a grace_ _Of half an hour's space,_ _And rejoice in thy Friday capon._ _For an error that's the flock's,_ _Name Master Paul, but urge St Knox;[225]_ _And at every reform'd dinner,_ _Let cheese come in, and preaching,_ _And by that third course teaching_ _Confirm an unsatisfi'd sinner._ _Thence grow up to hate a ring,_ _And defy an offering;_ _And learn to sing what others say._ _Let Christ-tide be thy fast,_ _And Lent thy good repast;_ _And regard not an holy-day._ _Enter_ CONSTABLE _and Assistants_. CON. Lay hold on them! lay hold on them, I say! I'll hamper them. CATCH. Hell take your headlong zeal! You must be jerking at the times, forsooth. I am afraid the times will 'scape, and we, The men of them, shall suffer now the scourge. CON. Let none escape.