angry women of Abington.
Phi. Come, come, she is with childe of some od iest,
And now shees sicke till that she bring it foorth,
And now shees sicke till that she bring it foorth,
Mal. A iest quoth you? well brother if it be,
I feare twill prooue an earnest vnto me,
Goose said ye sir? oh that same very name,
Hath in it much variety of shame,
Of all the birds that euer yet was seene,
I would not haue them graze vpon this greene,
I hope they will not, for this crop is poore,
And they may pasture vpon greater store.
But yet tis pittie that they let them passe,
And like a Common bite the Muses grasse,
Yet this I feare if Franke and I should kisse,
Some creeking goose would chide vs with a hisse,
I meane not that goose that sings it knowes not what,
Tis not that hisse when one saies hist come hither,
Nor that same hisse that setteth dogges together,
Nor that same hisse that by a fire doth stand,
And hisseth T. or F. vpon the hand,
But tis a hisse, and Ile vnlace my cote,
For I should sound sure if I heard that note,
And then greene Ginger for the greene goose cries,
Serues not the turne, I turn'd the white of eyes,
The Rosasolis yet that makes me liue,
Is fauours that these Gentlemen may giue,
But if they be displeased, then pleasde am I,
To yeeld my selfe a hissing death to dye,
Yet I hope heeres none consents to kill,
But kindly take the fauour of good will.
If any thing be in the pen to blame,
Then here stand I to blush the writers shame,
If this be bad, he promises a better,
Trust him, and he will prooue a right true debter.
I feare twill prooue an earnest vnto me,
Goose said ye sir? oh that same very name,
Hath in it much variety of shame,
Of all the birds that euer yet was seene,
I would not haue them graze vpon this greene,
I hope they will not, for this crop is poore,
And they may pasture vpon greater store.
But yet tis pittie that they let them passe,
And like a Common bite the Muses grasse,
Yet this I feare if Franke and I should kisse,
Some creeking goose would chide vs with a hisse,
I meane not that goose that sings it knowes not what,
Tis not that hisse when one saies hist come hither,
Nor that same hisse that setteth dogges together,
Nor that same hisse that by a fire doth stand,
And hisseth T. or F. vpon the hand,
But tis a hisse, and Ile vnlace my cote,
For I should sound sure if I heard that note,
And then greene Ginger for the greene goose cries,
Serues not the turne, I turn'd the white of eyes,
The Rosasolis yet that makes me liue,
Is fauours that these Gentlemen may giue,
But if they be displeased, then pleasde am I,
To yeeld my selfe a hissing death to dye,
Yet I hope heeres none consents to kill,
But kindly take the fauour of good will.
If any thing be in the pen to blame,
Then here stand I to blush the writers shame,
If this be bad, he promises a better,
Trust him, and he will prooue a right true debter.
FINIS.
