Nay, proclaim'th he, for sweet charity
hath placed me within whisper of an angel,
low that I doth jest at her mortality.
For jest I may as jest I might
But thee wouldst find mine lust
Little jests at night!
Nay, the jest mightst be in nibbles,
A little per-loin for pleasure of groin
And ravishment upon chest and nipples!
But sup on sweet soul may have to suffice,
Gravy of laughter and merry fun after,
To dine on friendship and sage advice.
Seems tis the province of the chaste
To not take pleasure in ample measure,
Tho tis much a shame and such a waste!
