A Jest

IN a most holy Church, a holy man,
Vnto a holy Saint with Visage wan,
And Eyes like Fountaines, mumbled forth a Prayer,
And with strange Words and Sighs made black the Aire.
And having long so stay'd, and long long pray'd,
A thousand crosses on himselfe he lay'd,
And with some sacred Beads hung on his Arm…
His Eyes, his Mouth, his Temples, Brest did charme.
Thus not content (strange Worship hath no end)
To kisse the Earth at last he did pretend,
And bowing down besought with humble grace,
An aged Woman neare to give some place:
She turn'd, and turning up her Hole beneath,
Said, Sir kisse here, for it is all but Earth.