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He has practised late to mend his hand, and now With the very wind and flourish of his instrument He will strike flatt a projector at twelve score. Ri. Does he not heare you? Cap. En. Into what misery have my Projects flung me! They shanot know I understand 'em. That I were quitt with loss of both my eares, although I cut my haire like a Lay Elder, too, To shew the naked conyholes!
Do. Oh, oh, oh! Ri. The musick at a convocation of Catts upon a witches upsetting is the spheres to this Catterwalling. I will thrust my head into the pillow, as Dametas did in a bush when the beare was a comeing, and then I shanot heare her. Do. Oh, this is a kind of Purgatory for sins of the flesh.
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