Oh sayes another, though the man be big,
For my part, I know none like Dr. Trig.
Nay, hold you there sayes t’other, on my life
There’s none like Chamberlain the man midwife.
Then in a heap, their own receipts they muster
To make this gelly, how to make that plaster,
Which when she heares, but that now fainting lay,
Up starteth she, and talkes as fast as they.
But they that did not mind this dolefull passion
Followed their businesse on another fashion,