Francis

Prudence, I am of your opinion iust, A vvif's farre better than a matchlesse maide, Ile stay no longer virgin then needes must, The law of Nature ought to be obayde: Either vve must haue inward loue to men, Or else beare hate, and so be brutish then.

Doth not the vvorld instruct vs this by others, That vvedlocke is a remedy for sinne, Shall vve be vviser then our reuerent mothers, That married, or we all had bastards bin: And ere our mothers lost their maiden Iemme, Did not our grandhams euen as much for them.

From whence haue you the gift to liue vnwed, Pray of what stuffe are your straight bodies made, By what chast spirit was your nicenesse bred, That seeme of flesh to be so purely stayde: Are not all here made females for like ends, Fye, fye for shame, disemble not with friends.

Ile tell you one thing which by proofe I knowe, My mother had a cocke that vs'd to roame, And all the hens would to our neighbours goe, We could not keepe them for our liues at home: Abroad they went, though we wold nere so saine Vntill by chance we got our cocke againe.

And so my fathers pigeons in like sort, Our matchlesse hens about would euer flye, To paire with other doues they would resort, (Pray laugh not Susan, for it is no lye) I haue it not from other folkes relation, But from mine owne, and mothers obseruation.