XXXXII.
On a Strumpet who stole his Tablets.
Come, Hendecasyllabics, many as may
All hither, every one that of you be!
That fulsome harlot makes me laughing-stock
And she refuses at our prayer restore
5
Our stolen Note-books, an such slights ye bear.
Let us pursue her clamouring our demands.
"Who's she?" ye question: yonder one ye sight