Upon Dundrige.

Batt he gets children, not for love to rear 'em;
But out of hope his wife might die to bear 'em.

What offspring other men have got,
The how, where, when, I question not.
These are the children I have left,
Adopted some, none got by theft;
But all are touch'd, like lawful plate,
And no verse illegitimate.

Who with thy leaves shall wipe, at need,
The place where swelling piles do breed;
May every ill that bites or smarts
Perplex him in his hinder parts.

How well contented in this private grange
Spend I my life, that's subject unto change:
Under whose roof with moss-work wrought, there I
Kiss my brown wife and black posterity.

Lulls swears he is all heart; but you'll suppose
By his proboscis that he is all nose.

In battles what disasters fall,
The king he bears the blame of all.