e none more to shag, will masturbate until he hath
enrich'd whole acres with his seed.

Then spake ye damned windmill, Sr Walter, of a people in ye uttermost
parts of America, yt capulate not until they be five and thirty yeres of
age, ye women being eight and twenty, and do it then but once in seven
yeres.

Ye Queene.--How doth that like my little Lady Helen? Shall we send thee
thither and preserve thy belly?

Lady Helen.--Please your highnesses grace, mine old nurse hath told me
there are more ways of serving God than by locking the thighs together;
yet am I willing to serve him yt way too, sith your highnesses grace
hath set ye ensample.

Ye Queene.--God' wowndes a good answer, childe.

Lady Alice.--Mayhap 'twill weaken when ye hair sprouts below ye navel.

Lady Helen.--Nay, it sprouted two yeres syne; I can scarce more than
cover it with my hand now.

Ye Queene.--Hear Ye that, my little Beaumonte? Have ye not a little
birde about ye that stirs at hearing tell of so sweete a neste?

Beaumonte.--'Tis not insensible, illustrious madam; but mousing owls and
bats of low degree may not aspire to bliss so whelming and ecstatic as
is found in ye downy nests of birdes of Paradise.

Ye Queene.--By ye gullet of God, 'tis a neat-turned compliment. With
such a tongue as thine, lad, thou'lt spread the ivory thighs of many
a willing maide in thy good time, an' thy cod-piece be as handy as thy
speeche.

Then spake ye queene of how she met old Rabelais when she was turned of
fifteen, and he did tell her of a man his father knew that had a double
pair of bollocks, whereon a controversy followed as concerning the
most just way to spell the word, ye contention running high betwixt
ye learned Bacon and ye ingenious Jonson, until at last ye old Lady
Margery, wearying of it all, saith, 'Gentles, what mattereth it how ye
shall spell the word? I warrant Ye when ye use your bollocks ye shall
not think of it; and my Lady Granby, be ye content; let the spelling
be, ye shall enjoy the beating of them on your buttocks just the same, I
trow. Before I had gained my fourteenth year I had learnt that them that
would explore a cunt stop'd not to consider the spelling o't.'

Sr W.--In sooth, when a shift's turned up, delay is meet for naught but
dalliance. Boccaccio hath a story of a priest that did beguile a maid
into his cell, then knelt him in a corner to pray for grace to be
rightly thankful for this tender maidenhead ye Lord had sent