For feare of being beaten: the best Clarke,
For cowardise that can be in the World,
To terrifie the Female Champions,
He was in England, a poore Scholer first,
And came to Medley, to eate Cakes and Creame,
At my old Mothers house, she trusted him:
At least some sixteene shillings o’the score,
And he perswaded her, he would make me
A Scholer of the Niniuersitie, which she, kind Foole, beleeu’d:
He neu’r taught me any Lesson, but to raile against women,