With which thy flounces break upon the sight
Of my bad loveliness?
Trim as the Rascal Sights unto the Pole,
Those locks shed bistre on my padded soul,
And bid smart onions rise
To churn me in my mantling path and give
A flea to nerve the thought that I may live
To bask in thy blear'd eyes!
You bark as smelleth this vile work to me,
Peruse as human beasts appear to be,