[120] And plaste an enuious mountaine on my backe,
Where sits deformity to mocke my bodie,
To drie mine arme vp like a withered shrimpe.
To make my legges of an vnequall size,
And am I then a man to be belou’d?
125 Easier for me to compasse twentie crownes.
Tut I can smile, and murder when I smile,
[♦] I crie content, to that that greeues me most.
I can adde colours to the Camelion,
And for a need change shapes with Protheus,