A burthen far more grievous then the weight
Of wine or sleep; more vexing than the freight
Of fruit and oysters, which lade many a pate,
And send folks crying home from Billingsgate.
No more shall man with mortar on his head
Set forwards towards Rome: No! thou art bred
A terror to all footmen, and all porters,
And all laymen that will turne Jews exhorters,
To flie their conquered trade. Proud England then
Embrace this luggage[38], which the Man of men