That he thinks all his own which once he handles,
For practice-sake did steal a pound of candles;
Was taken in the fact: Oh, foolish wight!
To steal such things as needs must come to light.
On a very plain Lady, that patched much.
Your homely face, Flippanta, you disguise,
With patches, numerous as Argus’ eyes;
I own that patching’s requisite to you,
For more we are pleased, if less your face we view;
Yet I advise, if my advice you’d ask,