To The Little Spinners.

Ye pretty housewives, would ye know The work that I would put ye to? This, this it should be: for to spin A lawn for me, so fine and thin As it might serve me for my skin. For cruel Love has me so whipp'd That of my skin I all am stripp'd: And shall despair that any art Can ease the rawness or the smart, Unless you skin again each part. Which mercy if you will but do, I call all maids to witness to What here I promise: that no broom Shall now or ever after come To wrong a spinner or her loom.