A Copy of Verses of a Mony Marriage
1.
No Gypsie nor no Blackamore,
No Bloomesbery, nor Turnbald whore,
Can halfe so black, so foule appeare,
As she I chose to be my Deare.
She’s wrinkled, old, she’s dry, she’s tough,
Yet money makes her faire enough.
2.
Nature’s hand shaking did dispose,
Her cheeks faire red unto her nose,
Which shined like that wanton light,
Misguideth wanderers in the night.
Yet for all this I do not care,
Though she be foul, her money’s faire.
3.
Her tangled Locks do show to sight,
Like Horses manes, whom haggs affright.
Her Bosome through her vaile of Lawne,
Shews more like Pork, her Neck like Brawn.
Yet for all this I do not care,
Though she be foul, her money’s faire.
4.
Her teeth, to boast the Barbers fame,
Hang all up in his wooden frame.
Her lips are hairy, like the skin
Upon her browes, as lank as thin.
Yet for all this I do not care,
Though she be foul, her money’s faire.
5.
Those that her company do keep,
Are rough hoarse coughs, to break my sleep.
The Palsie, Gout, and Plurisie,
And Issue in her legge and thigh.
Yet me it grieves not, who am sure
That Gold can all diseases cure.
6.
Then young men do not jeere my lot,
That beauty left, and money got:
For I have all things having Gold,
And beauty too, since beautie’s sold.
For Gold by day shall please my sight,
When all her faults lye hid at night.