I did but tell her, she mistook her frets,
And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering;
When with a most impatient devilish spirit,
'Frets, call you these?' quoth she: 'I'll fume with them:'
And with that word, she struck me on the head,
And through the instrument my pate made way;
And there I stood amazed for a while,
As on a pillory, looking through the lute:
While she did call me, rascal fiddler,
And twangling Jack; with twenty such vile terms,