To folks devout at meeting.

A furrow'd brow,
Where corn might grow,
Such fertile soil is seen in't,
A long hook nose,
Though scorn'd by foes,
For spectacles convenient.

Thus to go on,
I could pen down
Your charms from head to foot--
Set all your glory
In verse before you,
But I've no mind to do't.

Then haste away,
And make no stay,
For soon as you come hither
We'll eat and sleep,
Make beds and sweep,
And talk and smoke together.

But if, my dear,
I must come there,
Tow'rd _Cambridge_ strait I'll set me,
To touze the hay
On which you lay,
If, madam, you will let me.