Book III, Satire 5

FIe on all Curtesie, and vnruly windes,
Two onely foes that faire disguisement findes.
Strange curse! But fit for such a sickle age,
When Scalpes are subiect to such vassalage.
Late trauailing along in London way,
Mee met, as seem'd by his disguis'd aray,
A lustie Courtier, whose curled head,
With abron locks was fairely furnished.
I him saluted in our lauish wise:
He answeres my vntimely courtesies.
His bonnet vail'd, ere euer he could thinke,
Th'unruly winde blowes off his Periwinke.
He lights, and runs, and quickly hath him sped,
To ouertake his ouerrunning head.
The sportfull winde, to mocke the Headlesse man,
Tosses apace his pitch'd Rogerian:
And straight it to a deeper ditch hath blowne:
There must my yonker fetch his waxen crowne.
I lookt, and laught, whiles in his raging minde,
He curst all Curtesie, and vnruly winde.
I lookt, and laught, and much I meruailed,
To see so large a Caus-way in his head.
And me bethought, that when it first begon,
T'was some shroad Autumne, that so bar'd the bone.
Is't not sweete pride, when men their crownes must
With that which ierks the hams of euery iade
Or floor-strowd locks from off the Barbers sheares?
But waxen crownes well gree with borrowed haires.