A copy of Verses of a mon[e]y Marriage.
1.
No Gypsie nor no Blackamore,
No Bloomesbery, nor Turnbald whore,
Can halfe so black, so foule appeare,
As she I chose to be my Deare.
She’s wrinkled, old, she’s dry, she’s tough,
Yet money makes her faire enough.
2.
Nature’s hand shaking did dispose,