6.

Feacie, some say, doth wash her clothes i' th' lie, 390.

Fie, quoth my lady, what a stink is here, 395.

First, Jolly's wife is lame; then next loose-hip'd, 378.

Flood, if he has for him and his a bit, 409.

Fone says, those mighty whiskers he does wear, 377.

For ropes of pearl, first Madam Ursly shows, 397.

For second course, last night a custard came, 378.

For thirty years Tubbs has been proud and poor, 405.

Franck ne'er wore silk she swears; but I reply, 394.

Franck would go scour her teeth; and setting to 't, 398.

Give me a reason why men call, 401.

Goes the world now, it will with thee go hard, 376.

Glasco had none, but now some teeth has got, 377.

Glass, out of deep, and out of desp'rate want, 386.

Groynes, for his fleshly burglary of late, 381.

Grubs loves his wife and children, while that they, 407.

Grudgings turns bread to stones, when to the poor, 395.

Gryll eats, but ne'er says grace: to speak the truth, 378.

Gubbs calls his children kitlings: and would bound, 380.

Guess cuts his shoes, and limping, goes about, 381.

Hanch, since he lately did inter his wife, 402.

Hog has a place i' th' kitchen, and his share, 407.

Horne sells to others teeth; but has not one, 394.

How could Luke Smeaton wear a shoe or boot, 398.

Huncks has no money, he does swear or say, 390.

I abhor the slimy kiss, 402.

I dream't this mortal part of mine, 375.

If felt and heard, unseen, thou dost me please, 408.

If thou dislik'st the piece thou light'st on first, 375.

If wounds in clothes, Cuts calls his rags, 'tis clear, 385.

I have seen many maidens to have hair, 393.

In Den'shire Kersey Lusk when he was dead, 409.

In's Tusc'lans, Tully doth confess, 409.

Is Zelot pure? he is: yet, see he wears, 397.

Jone is a wench that's painted, 396.

Joan would go tell her hairs; and well she might, 392.

Jolly and Jilly bite and scratch all day, 387.

Kissing and bussing differ both in this, 391.

Last night thou didst invite me home to eat, 388.

Letcher was carted first about the streets, 392.

Linnet plays rarely on the lute, we know, 385.

Long locks of late our zealot Peason wears, 402.

Leech boasts he has a pill, that can alone, 383.

Luggs, by the condemnation of the bench, 378.

Lulls swears he is all heart; but you'll suppose, 403.

Lungs, as some say, ne'er sets him down to eat, 396.

Lupe