Richard Braithwaite

I'd rather die Maid, and lead apes in Hell Than wed an inmate of Silenus' Cell.

To Banbury came I, O profane one! Where I saw a Puritane-one Hanging of his cat on Monday, For killing of a mouse on Sunday.

Skin more pure than Ida’s snow, Whiter far than Moorish milk, Sweeter than ambrosia too, Softer than the Paphian silk, Indian plumes or thistle-down, Or May-blossoms newly blown,

A wily wench there was (as I have read) Who us’d to capricorn her husband’s head.