Julia was careless, and withal She rather took than got a fall, The wanton ambler chanc'd to see Part of her legs' sincerity: And ravish'd thus, it came to pass, The nag (like to the prophet's ass)...
Dew sate on Julia's hair, And spangled too, Like leaves that laden are With trembling dew; Or glitter'd to my sight, As when the beams Have their reflected light Danced by the streams.
Maggot frequents those houses of good-cheer, Talks most, eats most, of all the feeders there. He raves through lean, he rages through the fat, (What gets the master of the meal by that?)...
Apollo sings, his harp resounds: give room, For now behold the golden pomp is come, Thy pomp of plays which thousands come to see With admiration both of them and thee....
To paint the fiend, Pink would the devil see; And so he may, if he'll be rul'd by me; Let but Pink's face i' th' looking-glass be shown, And Pink may paint the devil's by his own.
One of the five straight branches of my hand Is lop'd already, and the rest but stand Expecting when to fall, which soon will be; First dies the leaf, the bough next, next the tree.