First stick him full of splinter’d pine.
Dissect a rogue or two alive,
For thus your worships may contrive
To trace the vital springs in action
Of nature’s movements to a fraction.
In fine, your worships will contrive
To leave not one vile wretch alive,
Except those dirty sons of witches,
Whom nature meant to dig in ditches.
But all who would not make most topping