A Non Sequitur

Marke! how the lanterns clowd mine eyes,
See where a moon-drake ’gins to rise;
Saturne crawls much like an iron catt,
To see the naked moone in a slipshott hatt.
Thunder-thumping toadstools crock the pots
To see the mermaids tumble;
Leather cat-a-mountaines shake their heels,
To heare the gosh-hawke grumble.
The rustic threed
Begins to bleed,
And cobwebs elbows itches;
The putrid skyes
Eat mulsacke pyes,
Backed up in logicke breches.
Munday trenchers made good hay,
The lobster weares no dagger;
Meale-mouthed she-peacocke powle the starres,
And made the lowbell stagger.
Blew crocodiles foame in the toe,
Blind meale-bagges do follow the doe;
A ribb of apple braine spice
Will follow the Lancashire dice.
Harke! how the chime of Plutoes pispot cracks,
To see the rainbowes wheele-gann made of flax.