The Staff Is Now Greas'D; And Very Well Pleas'D, She Cocks Out Her Arse At The Parting, To An Old Ram Goat That Rattles I' Th' Throat, Half-Choked With The Stink Of Her Farting. In A Dirty Hair-Lace She Leads On A Brace Of Black Boar-Cats To Attend Her: Who Scratch At The Moon, And Threaten At Noon Of Night From Heaven For To Rend Her. A-Hunting She Goes, A Cracked Horn She Blows, At Which The Hounds Fall A-Bounding; While Th' Moon In Her Sphere Peeps Trembling For Fear, And Night'S Afraid Of The Sounding.