Who doth presume my Mistress's name to scan,
Goes about more then any way he can,
Since all men think that it is Susan . Echo Ann .

What say'st? Then tell who is as white as Swan,
While others set by her are pale and wan,
Then, Echo , speak, Is it not Susan ? Ec. Ann .

Tell, Echo , yet, whose middle's but a span,
Some being gross as bucket, round as pan;
Say, Echo , then, Is it not Susan ? Ec. Ann .

Say, is she not soft as meal without bran,
Though yet in great hast once from me she ran,
Must I not however love Susan ? Ec. Ann .