For women lewd like unto thee,
I cannot turn my foot about.
Sir, thief, I say I shall bide out,
But gossip thou wast ne’er to me,
For to come in, I’m not so stout,
And of my biting thou’st be free:
But, Lucifer, what’s that on thee,
Hast thou no water in this place?
Thou look’st so black, it seems to me
Thou ne’er dost wash thy ugly face.