Now the Priest’s elbows doe the cushion knead,
While to the people he his Text doth read,
Beloved, I shall here crave leave to speak
A word, he cries and winks, unto the weak,
The words are these, Make haste and doe not tarry,
But unto Babylon thy dinner carry,
There doth young Daniel want in the Den,
Thrown among Lyons by hard-hearted men.
Here my Beloved, and then he reaches down
His hand, as if he’d catch the Clerk by th’ crown.