Rufus, but late returning from the South,
Knaps Southern; and now scornes his Countrey-mouth:
He cringes with his Face, and looks aside;
And sets his Countenance, as he were a Bride.
He wears a nitty Lock: his Fingers skip,
And dance Carantoes 'twixt his Waste and Lip;
And is with Complement so fild to th'Brim,
That when a Gentleman but said to him,
What is't a clock; he first his hand did kiss;
To say then, At your service, did not misse.
And as the time he intertained thus,
Before he would lay open or untruss
The Budget of his Speech, with much adoo
A formall leg he made, and sayd, Tis two.
Ye Home-bred things, if you in's comp'nie fall,
Be mannerly; or he will shame you all.