579. UPON URLES.
Urles had the gout so, that he could not stand;
Then from his feet it shifted to his hand:
When 'twas in's feet, his charity was small;
Now 'tis in's hand, he gives no alms at all.
580. UPON FRANCK.
Franck ne'er wore silk she swears; but I reply,
She now wears silk to hide her blood-shot eye.
590. UPON A FREE MAID, WITH A FOUL BREATH.
You say you'll kiss me, and I thank you for it;
But stinking breath, I do as hell abhor it.
591. UPON COONE. EPIG.
What is the reason Coone so dully smells?
His nose is over-cool'd with icicles.