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Sometimes he troubles Law, at th'Inns of Court;
Now comes, to buy him Weeds of shining sort;
And faine would have thy Cloake, but'tis too short:
Now comes, to buy him Weeds of shining sort;
And faine would have thy Cloake, but'tis too short:
Too short (neat Sir) was all thy rifled store;
Which made those Brokers curse thy stature more,
Than thou, Fiend-Andrew, the sad day before.
Which made those Brokers curse thy stature more,
Than thou, Fiend-Andrew, the sad day before.
But hark! who knocks? good troth my Muse is staid,
By an Apothecaries Bill unpaid;
Whose length, not strange-nam'd-Drugs, makes her afraid.
By an Apothecaries Bill unpaid;
Whose length, not strange-nam'd-Drugs, makes her afraid.
To
