Thou, Brandy-skinned harlot, Who scarce beg her fare. 'Tis wicked of you And noxious to rook Men as you do. Coddling their serpents To assure that pestilence Is forever tamed. What are you such that Wiles thus deceive them? Some bawdy queen for sure. What for this spleen Of mind and soul? You are the regaling trick, The poison-toothed bitch. A dagger received In the cold raptures of night.