The Churching-Feast. 1667

THO I kiss without Wit or Fear,
And get two Children in a year,
What is that to your harmless Deer?

Must one dye for each Brat of mine,
As tho my Cod-piece were a Shrine?
Or Priapus again divine?

Such Bounty if you do not shun
It will dis-park your Hodsack soon;
For each Buck is by me out-done.

If still we both so forward be,
You'l find it a Necessity
To geld your Gifts as well as me.

If some do not for me this Knack,
I, like the Mountebank, may crack,
How that my leaping breaks my Back.

Let no man mock at what is writ;
To shew my Poverty is fit;
For Want's a special sign of Wit.

Nor do these my Pretences cheat,
But their good Fortunes seek to get,
Who Ballads sing at Doors for Meat.

Then I may boast Apollo's Skill,
If now a fat Doe I can kill
With th' feather'd Arrow of my Quill.

To Orpheus Fame I'll then aspire,
If one dance now to my desire,
Charm'd by the twangings of my Lyre.