Murrion

The fold ſtands empty, in the drovvned fiend, / And crovves are fatted vvith the murrion flocke.

[A] red murrion ath thy Iades trickes.

VVhat the Murrion care I vvho you are, hold off your Fingers, or Ile cut them vvith this Diamond.

[I]f our freſh vvits cannot turne the plots / Of ſuch a mouldy murrion on it ſelfe; / Rich cloathes, choyſe fare, and a true friend at a call, / VVith all the pleaſures the night yeelds, forſake vs.