I met the Bishop on the road

    And much said he and I.

    ‘Those breasts are flat and fallen now，

    Those veins must soon be dry；

    Live in a heavenly mansion，

    Not in some foul sty.‘

    ‘Fair and foul are near of kin，

    And fair needs foul，‘ I cried.

    ‘My friends are gone， but that’s a truth

    Nor grave nor bed denied，

    Learned in bodily lowliness

    And in the heart‘s pride.

    ‘A woman can be proud and stiff

    When on love intent；

    But Love has pitched his mansion in

    The place of excrement；

    For nothing can be sole or whole

    That has not been rent.‘