2410One bade them fill an orc of Bacchus water,
Her thirsty soul she said would drain a tun;
One from her window bids a poor translator
Cut her a cantle of the gaudy sun;
But above all I like that witty girl,
Which longed to feed upon a glorrah earl.
The jealous matron with suspicious eye
Did read their common ill in every face;
Espied the breach of their virginity,
And feared a plantage with an infant race.