ON A STRUMPET WHO STOLE HIS TABLETSCome, Hendecasyllabics, many as may
All hither, every one that of you be!
That fulsome harlot makes me laughing-stock
And she refuses at our prayer restore
Our stolen Note-books, an such slights ye bear.
Let us pursue her clamouring our demands.
"Who's she?" ye question: yonder one ye sight
Mincingly pacing mime-like, perfect pest,
With jaws wide grinning like a Gallic pup.
Stand all round her dunning with demands,
"Return (O rotten whore!) our noting books.
Our noting books (O rotten whore!) return!"
No doit thou car'st? O Mire! O Stuff O' stews!
Or if aught fouler filthier dirt there be.
Yet must we never think these words suffice.
But if naught else avail, at least a blush
Forth of that bitch-like brazen brow we'll squeeze.
Cry all together in a higher key
"Restore (O rotten whore!) our noting books,
Our noting books (O rotten whore!) restore !"
Still naught avails us, nothing is she moved.
Now must our measures and our modes be changed
An we would anywise our cause advance.
"Restore (chaste, honest Maid!) our noting books!"