A crabbed Shrow through sicknes weakly brought,
Wish't by all meanes a Doctor might be sought,
Who by his Art that hee her griefe might know,
Felt both her pulse, and cast her water too;
Which done, He to her Husband turn'd againe,
And wish'd him be content, all was in vaine:
For when the Signe's in Cancer shee should die;
To whom her Husband answer'd presently;
“If that my learned Doctor had beene so,
She had beene dead beleeue it long agoe:
For these ten yeares and odd she ha's beene mine,
And I ne're knew yet out of that Signe.