Upon Lulls.

Ursley, she thinks those velvet patches grace
The candid temples of her comely face;
But he will say, whoe'er those circlets seeth,
They be but signs of Ursley's hollow teeth.

Seal'd up with night-gum, Loach each morning lies,
Till his wife licking, so unglues his eyes.
No question then, but such a lick is sweet,
When a warm tongue does with such ambers meet.

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.

Luggs, by the condemnation of the Bench,
Was lately whipt for lying with a wench.
Thus pains and pleasures turn by turn succeed:
He smarts at last who does not first take heed.

Bice laughs, when no man speaks; and doth protest.
It is his own breech there that breaks the jest.

Lungs, as some say, ne'er sets him down to eat
But that his breath does fly-blow all the meat.