Fill thy Purse by Jakob Chapman

O thou lout with surly folly-fallen nut-hooks!
Wherefore art thou a clouted crook-pated pumpion!
Thou didst leave me like a cockered ill-nurtured horn-beast!
Quench my spleeny pottle-deep desire, thou mammet!
May a tottering onion-eyed harpy give birth in your bed.

O thou bugbear with jarring rump-fed measles!
Wherefore art thou a cockered pottle-deep clotpole!
Thou didst leave me like a warped tardy-gaited flax-wench!
Quench my fawning fat-kidneyed desire, thou malt-worm!
May a vain base-court fustilarian give birth in your bed.

O thou fustilarian with puny spur-galled dewberrys!
Wherefore art thou a gleeking rude-growing haggard!
Thou didst leave me like a infectious ill-breeding pumpion!
Quench my spleeny weather-bitten desire, thou hedge-pig!
May a gleeking fool-born strumpet give birth in your bed.

O thou canker-blossom with villainous doghearted codpieces!
Wherefore art thou a reeky rude-growing baggage!
Thou didst leave me like a bootless knotty-pated hedge-pig!
Quench my droning weather-bitten desire, thou malt-worm!
May a vain hedge-born flirt-gill give birth in your bed.

O thou nut-hook with droning shard-borne hedge-pigs!
Wherefore art thou a puny tardy-gaited apple-john!
Thou didst leave me like a infectious fat-kidneyed coxcomb!
Quench my mewling flap-mouthed desire, thou lewdster!
May a droning rude-growing flap-dragon give birth in your bed.

If sticks and stones be the food of hate, break on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.