Works

Skinns, he dined well to-day: how do you think?
His nails they were his meat, his rheum the drink.

Skoles stinks so deadly, that his breeches loath
His dampish buttocks furthermore to clothe;
Cloy'd they are up with arse; but hope, one blast
Will whirl about, and blow them thence at last.

Skrew lives by shifts; yet swears by no small oaths
For all his shifts he cannot shift his clothes.

Skurf by his nine-bones swears, and well he may:
All know a fellon eat the tenth away.

Slouch he packs up, and goes to several fairs,
And weekly markets for to sell his wares:
Meantime that he from place to place does roam,
His wife her own ware sells as fast at home.

How could Luke Smeaton wear a shoe, or boot,
Who two-and-thirty corns had on a foot.

Snare, ten i' th' hundred calls his wife; and why?
She brings in much by carnal usury.
He by extortion brings in three times more:
Say, who's the worst, th' exactor or the whore?

Sneape has a face so brittle, that it breaks
Forth into blushes whensoe'er he speaks.

Thou who wilt not love, do this,
Learn of me what woman is.
Something made of thread and thrum.
A mere botch of all and some.
Pieces, patches, ropes of hair;
Inlaid garbage everywhere....

Of pushes Spalt has such a knotty race,
He needs a tucker for to burl his face.

Spenke has a strong breath, yet short prayers saith;
Not out of want of breath, but want of faith.

Spokes, when he sees a roasted pig, he swears
Nothing he loves on't but the chaps and ears:
But carve to him the fat flanks, and he shall
Rid these, and those, and part by part eat all.

Spunge makes his boasts that he's the only man
Can hold of beer and ale an ocean;
Is this his glory? then his triumph's poor;
I know the tun of Heidleberg holds more.

Spur jingles now, and swears by no mean oaths,
He's double honour'd, since he's got gay clothes:
Most like his suit, and all commend the trim;
And thus they praise the sumpter, but not him:...

Strut, once a foreman of a shop we knew;
But turn'd a ladies' usher now, 'tis true:
Tell me, has Strut got e're a title more?
No; he's but foreman, as he was before.

Sudds launders bands in piss, and starches them
Both with her husband's and her own tough fleam.

Tap, better known than trusted, as we hear,
Sold his old mother's spectacles for beer:
And not unlikely; rather too than fail,
He'll sell her eyes, and nose, for beer and ale.

Teage has told lies so long that when Teage tells
Truth, yet Teage's truths are untruths, nothing else.

Tears, though they're here below the sinner's brine,
Above, they are the Angels' spiced wine.

Never was day so over-sick with showers
But that it had some intermitting hours;
Never was night so tedious but it knew
The last watch out, and saw the dawning too;
Never was dungeon so obscurely deep...