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;