Or, whether
He marr’d his hopes, by suffering his pen
With too much fervour to display ’em;—
As very tender Nurses, now and then,
Cuddle their Children, till they overlay ’em;—
’Twas plain, his pray’r to decorate the brows
Of good Sir Thomas was so far from granted,
That the Dame went, directly, to her spouse,
And told him what the filthy Friar wanted.
Think, Reader, think! if thou hast ta’en, for life,