Classic Poem

It was a puritanicall ladd
tha t was called Mathyas,
& he wold goe to Amsterdam
to speake w i th Ananyas
he had not gone past halfe a mile,
but he mett his holy sister;
hee layd his bible vnder her breeche,
& merylye hee kist her.

" Alas! what wold they wicked say? "
q uo th shee, " if they had seene itt!
my Buttocckes the lye to lowe: I wisht
appocrypha were in itt! "
" but peace, Sweet hart, or ere wee p ar t, —
I speake itt out of pure devotion, —
by yee & nay Ile not away
till thou feele my spiritts motion "

The huft & puft w i th many heaues,
till tha t the both were tyred,
" alas! " q uo th shee, " youle spoyle the leaues;
my peticoates all Myred!
if wee p ro fessors shold bee knowne
to the English congregation
eyther att Leyden or Amsterdam,
itt wold disgrace our nation;

" But since itt is, tha t p ar t wee must,
tho I am much vnwilling,
good brother, lets haue the tother thrust,
& take thee this fine shilling
to beare thy charges as thou goes,
& passage ore the ocean. "
then downe shee Layd, & since tis sayd,
shee quencht his spiritts motion.