Nor men not women wash their face to day,
Put on their cloathes, and pisse, and so away;
They throng to Church just as they sell their ware,
In greasie hats, and old gowns worn thread-bare,
Where, though th’ whole body suffered tedious pain,
No member yet had more cause to complain
Than the poor nose, when little to its ease,
A Chandlers cloak perfum’d with candle-grease,
Commixing sents with a Sope-boylers breeches,
Did raise a stink beyond the skill of Witches.