To a Lady Majoress. / WHen I behold your head and limbs all shaking / Much like a Custard newly come from baking, / Your Velvet hood on tipto rais’d upright / As if your Hinch boy challenge would to fight. / Your pretty mouth, like Oyster gaping wide, / As if it did expect ere long the tyde; / Your Chin like Aple, both so red and shrivel’d, / So scalded by a hot rhume hourly drivel’d.