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Who with thy leaves shall wipe, at need, The place where swelling piles do breed; May every ill that bites or smarts Perplex him in his hinder parts.

If thou dislik'st the piece thou light'st on first, Think that of all, that I have writ, the worst: But if thou read'st my book unto the end, And still do'st this and that verse, reprehend; O perverse man! if all disgustful be, The extreme scab take thee, and thine, for me.

I dreamt this mortal part of mine Was metamorphos'd to a vine; Which crawling one and every way Enthrall'd my dainty Lucia. Methought, her long small legs and thighs I with my tendrils did surprise;