Down must the Dagon of thy face I vow.
See where it lyes; that Idol, once ador’d,
Must be for want of it, by all abhor’d.
Thy Husband lends an Ear, then let thy Nose,
To Sister-Sense her wretched State disclose.
And then consult thy Glass; See thy fare face
Is vanisht, and Deaths-head stands in the place.
Thy lips some Nectar sipt from I suppose
Will be exclaim’d on, fogh, they want a Nose.
And may thy sparkling eyes, which me did win,