From Pandora’s combustible box,
A sign you may tell by the tail or the head
Of that hell-born disease call’d the pox.
Sign Cancer’s the cod-clinging crab we all know,
And wifely clings he; for you’ll find
He’s ever in danger, above or below,
Of destruction by water or wind.
Sign Capricorn goatish old Q. doth denote,
Or them who of lust strongly smell,
Teaze, fumble and feel, drivel, dangle, and doat,