Well then, ye rabble vile, with falsehood rife,
Prepare yourselves for words of harder grain;
Know that my voice hath power upon your life,
To give you double fury, double pain!
Tell me, thou traitor, husband of the wife
Who six months yearly, to her sweetest gain,
Remains without thee, cuckold as thou art,
Why art thou dumb, when I speak out my heart?
This iron point, bedewed with water clear
Which never touched the ground in month of May,