My husband will never chase another woman. He's too fine, too decent, too old
by William Strode
'Tis vayne to add a ring or gemme,
Your eare itselfe outpasseth them.
When idle words are passing here,
I warne and pull you by the eare.
This silken chayne stands wayting here
For golden tongues to tye on there.
Here silken twynes, there locks you see--
Now tell me which the softer bee?