Broken sort of people, that have not much to lose
     But so fearful I am of discontenting my wife
     By her wedding-ring, I suppose he hath married her at last
     Dine with them, at my cozen Roger’s mistress’s
     Drawing up a foul draught of my petition to the Duke of York
     Dutchmen come out of the mouth and tail of a Hamburgh sow
     Fain to keep a woman on purpose at 20s. a week
     Find it a base copy of a good originall, that vexed me
     Found in my head and body about twenty lice, little and great
     Have not much to lose, and therefore will venture all
     His satisfaction is nothing worth, it being easily got
     I have itched mightily these 6 or 7 days
     I know I have made myself an immortal enemy by it
     Lady Castlemayne is now in a higher command over the King
     Last day of their doubtfulness touching her being with child
     Mighty fond in the stories she tells of her son Will
     Nor was there any pretty woman that I did see, but my wife
     Observing my eyes to be mightily employed in the playhouse
     Proud, carping, insolent, and ironically-prophane stile
     Quite according to the fashion—­nothing to drink or eat
     She finds that I am lousy
     Unquiet which her ripping up of old faults will give me
     Up, and with W. Hewer, my guard, to White Hall
     Weeping to myself for grief, which she discerning, come to bed
     With egg to keep off the glaring of the light