ROSKO

Is't possible that my Mistress Lamia, Over the shoes should b than love with Phallax? Why by Ies as she her self does say,) With pure good ioyll, her heart does melt like wax: And this I am sure, every hour they themselves, By their sweet selves, or by their letters greet, But the sport is to see the loving elves, Bill together when they in secret meet. She lowres, he lauffes she sighs threw pure love. The strumpets and Crocodiles tears a like. Nay, nay, says he (good pugges) no more of this: Well, says she, and weeps, my grief you do not prove. Then Straight this storm is cheered with a kys, And then a both sides, three words and a smouch: Within his ear, then whispereth this slouch, And by the way he stumbleth on her lips, Thus either stryues most loving signs to show, Much good do it them, sith they are both content, Once I am sure, how so the game does go, I have no cause their liking to repent: I syldome do between them message bear, But that I have and Item in the hand, Well, I must trudge to do a certain chare, Which, take I time, cock for my gain does stand. See how we are croft: we thought the King for pleasure, Came to visit us: when to his pain, And our plagues, I fear he bestows his leisure. To hear the wrongs, of such as will complain Of any man: But the sport is to see Us Officers, one look of another: I at Lord Promos, Lord Promos at Me, The Lawyers, at the Shriefe and Mayor. They gaze as on the ruling Lawyer. For to be plain, the clearest of all, Peccavi sing, to hear the grievous call, Against Usury, brybrie, and barrating, Suborning, extortion, and bolstering. Some faults are heard, some by Proclamation stay, Before the King, to be heard on Friday. I yet have scapte, and hope to go scotfree: But so, or no, whilst leisure serves Me. To have my a answers fresh if I be cauld, Of merry mates, I have a meeting stauld, To whom my senses, to refresh I weened, Who gets a pace as merrily may spend. I say, I have noble news for Lamia, Master Phallax, Osyd I cry you mercy. I will not fail sir, to show your pleasure: Marry, in faith, these news falls jump with the rest, They shall be welcome and fare of the best: But although they well fill their bodies thus, Their purses will be driven to a non plus: No force a whyt, each pleasure hath his pain, Better the purce then body starve of wain. Well, I will trudge, my welcome news to tell, And then abroad, good company to smell. No bolder then welcome, I warrant you Sir. I go. Even by Sir.