While she was quite unconscious of the matter;—
But he, the beast! was casting sheeps-eyes at her,
Out of his bullock-head.
That coxcombs were and are, I need not give,
Nor take the trouble, now, to prove;
Nor that those dead, like many, now, who live,
Have thought a Lady’s condescension, love.
This happen’d with fat Friar John!—
Monastick Coxcomb! amorous, and gummy;
Fill’d with conceit up to his very brim!—