Of thine untimely seed I say,
Proceeded never good but ill.
Poor Lot, for shame then stole away,
And left the wife to knock her fill.
Meek Moses then went down at last,
To pacify the carling then;
Now, dame, said he, knock not so fast,
Your knocking will not let you ben.
Good Sir, said she I am aghast,
When that I look you in the face;