Till all his sences he doth backe revoake,
Sees it ascend much like Saint Katherins smoake.
But this indeede made him the more admire,
He saw the smoke: thought he his head’s a fier,
And to increase his feare he thought poore soule,
His scarlet nose had been a firie cole.
Which circled round with smoak, seemed to him
Like to some rotten brand that burneth dim.
But to shew wisdome in a desperat case,
He threw a Can of beere into his face,