Of one whose Nose was greater than his hand

O Proclus, tis in vaine
that thou about dost stande,
For well I sée thou mindste to wipe
thy Nares with thy hande.
Truth is that though thou be
fowle fisted out of frame:
Yet doth this tossing Nose of thine
in bignesse passe the same.
When néezing thou on Ioue
for succour séemste to crie
Thou canst not heare, thy Nose debarres
the noyse to Eare to flie.
It beateth back the sounde,
it standes in middle place
Twixt Eare and Mouth, but sure it castes
a shade to all the face.