The Curse

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 hee

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 confesse, 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 faine be theirs, whom he hath bred,

And at the last be circumcis'd 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 before hand hath out-cursed mee.