WHO ever guesses, thinks, or dreames he knowes
Who is my mistris, wither by this curse;
            His only, and only his purse
            May some dull heart to love dispose,
And shee yeeld then to all that are his foes;
    May he be scorn'd by one, whom all else scorne,
    Forsweare to others, what to her he'hath sworne,
    With feare of missing, shame of getting, torne:

Madnesse his sorrow, gout his cramp, may bee
Make, by but thinking, who hath made him such:
            And may he feele no touch
            Of conscience, but of fame, and bee
Anguish'd, not that'twas sinne, but that'twas shee:
    In early and long scarcenesse may he rot,
    For land which had been his, if he had not
    Himselfe incestuously an heire begot:

May he dreame Treason, and beleeve, that hee
Meant to performe it, and confesses and die,
            And no record tell why:
            His sonnes, which none of his may bee,
Inherite nothing but his infamie:
    Or may he so long Parasites have fed,
    That he would faille be theirs, whom he hath bred,
    And at the last be circumcised for bread:

The venom of all stepdames, gamsters gall,
What Tyrans, and their subjects interwish,
            What Plants, Myne, Beasts, Foule, Fish,
            Can contribute, all ill which all
Prophets, or Poets spake; And all which shall
    Be annex'd in schedules unto this by mee,
    Fall on that man; For if it be a shee
    Nature beforehand hath out-cursed mee.