Rasp plays at nine-holes; and 'tis known he gets Many a tester by his game and bets: But of his gettings there's but little sign; When one hole wastes more than he gets by nine.
Reape's eyes so raw are that, it seems, the flies Mistake the flesh, and fly-blow both his eyes; So that an angler, for a day's expense, May bait his hook with maggots taken thence.
Even the shrewd and bitter, Gnarled by the old world's greed, Cherished the stranger softly Seeing his utter need. Shelter and patient hearing, These were their gifts to him,...
Rook he sells feathers, yet he still doth cry Fie on this pride, this female vanity. Thus, though the Rook does rail against the sin, He loves the gain that vanity brings in.
Roots had no money; yet he went o' the score, For a wrought purse; can any tell wherefore? Say, what should Roots do with a purse in print, That had not gold nor silver to put in't?
Under a lawn, than skies more clear, Some ruffled Roses nestling were, And snugging there, they seem'd to lie As in a flowery nunnery; They blush'd, and look'd more fresh than flowers...
Rush saves his shoes in wet and snowy weather; And fears in summer to wear out the leather; This is strong thrift that wary Rush doth use Summer and winter still to save his shoes.
When thou dost play and sweetly sing - Whether it be the voice or string Or both of them that do agree Thus to entrance and ravish me - This, this I know, I'm oft struck mute, And die away upon thy lute.
Scobble for whoredom whips his wife; and cries He'll slit her nose; but blubb'ring, she replies, Good sir, make no more cuts i' th' outward skin, One slit's enough to let adultry in.
Who rashly strove thy Image to portray? Thou buoyant minion of the tropic air; How could he think of the live creature gay With a divinity of colours, drest In all her brightness, from the dancing crest...
Shark, when he goes to any public feast, Eats to one's thinking, of all there, the least. What saves the master of the house thereby When if the servants search, they may descry...
Last night thou didst invite me home to eat; And showed me there much plate, but little meat. Prithee, when next thou do'st invite, bar state, And give me meat, or give me else thy plate.
Sibb, when she saw her face how hard it was, For anger spat on thee, her looking-glass: But weep not, crystal; for the same was meant Not unto thee, but that thou didst present.
With paste of almonds, Syb her hands doth scour; Then gives it to the children to devour. In cream she bathes her thighs, more soft than silk; Then to the poor she freely gives the milk.
When some shall say, Fair once my Silvia was, Thou wilt complain, False now's thy looking-glass, Which renders that quite tarnished which was green, And priceless now what peerless once had been....