The man that shews them snaffles:
Where who is apt for to beleeve,
May see our Ladies right-arm sleeve,
And eke her old pantofles;
Her breast, her milk, her very gown
That she did wear in Bethlehem town,
When in the inn she lay.
Yet all the world knows that’s a fable,
For so good clothes ne’re lay in stable
Upon a lock of hay.