My Surpless, with one sleeve, you shall find there,
For to that dearth of Linnen you have driven me;
And the old Cutwork Cope, that hangs by Geometry:
'Pray ye turn 'em carefully, they are very tender;
The remnant of the Books, lie where they did, Neighbours,
Half puft away with the Church-wardens pipings,
Such smoaky zeals they have against hard places.
The Poor-mans Box is there too: if ye find any thing
Beside the Posie, and that half rub'd out too,
For fear it should awake too much charity,