Which cannot be maintained by mens lookes;
Friends, all your Towne is hardly worth my Bookes.
There stands my Coach and Horses, t'is mine owne;
From hence to Turkie is my credite knowne:
In sooth I cannot boast, as many will,
Let nothing speake for mee, but onely skill.
See you that thing like Ginger-bread lies there.
My tongue cannot expresse to any eare
The sundrie vertues that it doth containe,
Or number halfe the Wormes that it hath slaine.