Singe

If you run through a crowd with the torch of truth you will singe a few beards.

made combustible by Flame They treat of, we have pretty Game, For they their own Tail Singe, to save Us

Then ſange Iudith this ſonge vnto the LORDE: Begynne vnto the LORDE vpon the tabrettes, ſinge vnto the LORDE vpon the cymbals.

Lo I the man, whoſe Muſe whilome did maske, / As time her taught in lowly Sheapards weeds, / Am now enforſt a far unfitter taske, / For trumpets ſterne to change mine oaten reeds, / And ſinge of Knights and Ladies gentle deeds[…]

[H]ere’s a couple of Syrenicall raſcals ſhall inchaunt yee: What ſhall they ſinge my good Lorde?