Withdraw my self from Beadles, and from such,

Who would give twelve pence I were in their clutch: {28}

Then, who can tell? this Child which I do hide,

(see note No [8]). May be in time a Small-beer Col’nel Pride

But while I talk, my business it is dumb,

I must lay double-clothes unto thy Bum,

Then lap thee warm, and to the world commit

The Bastard Off-spring of a New-born wit.

Farewel, poor Brat, thou in a monstrous World,

In swadling bands, thus up and down art hurl’d;