But if all this were fitting to his minde,
Where is his lease of life to stay behinde?
A Batcheler would have wife were wise,
Faire, Rich and Younge, a maiden for his bed,
Not proude, nor churlish but of fautles size,
A country housewife, in the Citty bred.
But hees a foole and longe in vaine hath staide,
He shoulde bespeake her, there’s none ready made.
