Chamber-pot
Stand off! nor with rude Smut disgrace
The Glories of my brighter face!

Frying-pan
Tho not so glib my Face be seen,
Yet all I'me sure's as sweet within.

Chamber-pot
You in the Kitchin drudge alone,
None handles you but greasie Joan!

Frying-pan
I always lend, but you receive;
Which is most brave, to take, or give?

Chamber-pot
Oft Maid and Mistriss fetch me out,
To wash their their Lilly-hand and Snowt.

Frying-pan
You're civil sure, and use I hope
With Water to allow 'em Soap.

Chamber-pot
Yes, such as ne're, at worst, indures
To scowre so foul a Mouth as yours.

Frying-pan
O what a fragrant Hogo rose
But now, to twinge a swounding Nose?

Chamber-pot
Such as when you were made a Tool,
To Fry the Break-fast for the Fool.

Frying-pan
All bulg'd and yellow you must fall
At last behind some ruin'd Wall;
Or melt, and to your Masters loss
Leave both at once your stink and dross.

Chamber-pot
Take then, since me you'll thus Incense,
These marks of my Benevolence:
Such Water as if Fame says true,
Diana on Acteon threw;
Which as some learned men surmize,
With flap of Fox put out his Eyes:
And least of Rary show he brag,
Bewitcht poor Hunter into Stag.