Do You Bite Your Thumb At Us,

Maids Want Nothing But Husbands, And When They Have Them, They Want Everything.

One Whom The Music Of His Own Vain Tongue Doth Ravish Like Enchanting Harmony.

Tis In My Memory Lock'd, And You Yourself Shall Keep The Key Of It.

That Skull Had A Tongue In It, And Could Sing Once: How The Knave Jowls It To The Ground, As If It Were Cain's Jaw-bone, That Did The First Murder! It Might Be The Pate Of A Politician, Which This Ass Now O'er-reaches; One That Would Circumvent God, Might It Not?

Be As Just And Gracious Unto Me, As I Am Confident And Kind To Thee.