(from "The Revenger's
by: Cyril Tourneur (c.1575-1626)
POEMS BY CYRIL TOURNEUR
- IGHT! thou that look'st like funeral
- Torn down betimes i' the morning, thou hang'st fitly
- To grace those sins that have no grace at all.
- Now 'tis full sea abed over the world:
- There's juggling of all sides; some that were maids
- E'en at sunset, are now perhaps i' the toll-book. 
- This woman in immodest thin apparel
- Lets in her friend by water; here a dame
- Cunning nails leather hinges to a door,
- To avoid proclamation.
- Now cuckolds are coining, apace, apace, apace, apace!
- And careful sisters spin that thread i' the night,
- That does maintain them and their bawds i' the day.
A register of horses to be sold at fairs.