But as soon as she spake
I heard a harsh mandrake.
Laugh not at my mistake,
Her head is epicene.
Never did, &c.
30Mystical magic of conjuring wrinkles;
Feeling of pulses, the palmistry of hags;
Scolding out belches for rhetoric twinkles;
With three teeth in her head like to three gags;
Rainbows about her eyes