From my Italian travel.
Purist.
Alas! that I should see it too!
Here we a riot rare have!
Of all the crew, there are but two
That powder on their hair have.
Young Witch.
Powder and petticoat for grey
And wrinkled hags are fitting;
But I my lusty limbs display,
Upon a he-goat sitting.
Matron.
To speak with such a shameless pack
We have nor will nor leisure;
Soon may your flesh rot on your back,
And we look on with pleasure!
Leader of the Orchestra.
Snout of fly, and nose of gnat,
Sting not the naked beauty!
Frog and cricket, cat and bat,
Attend ye to your duty!
Weathercock. [to the one side]
A goodly company! as sure
As I stand on the steeple;
With brides and bridegrooms swarms the moor,
The hopefulest of people!
Weathercock. [to the other side]
And opes not suddenly the ground,
To swallow one and all up,
Then, with a jerk, I’ll veer me round,
And straight to hell I’ll gallop.
Xenien.
We insects keep them all in awe,
With sharpest scissors shear we!
Old Nick, our worthy Squire Papa,
Here to salute appear we.
Hennings.
See! how in merry circles they
Sit gossiping together;
The graceless crew have hearts, they say,
