Plot: The seed of Mustard is the smallest grain, And yet the force thereto is very great, It hath a present power to purge the brain, It adds unto the stomach force and heat: All poison it expels, and it is plain, With sugar 'tis a passing sauce for meat. She that hath hap a husband bad to bury, And is therefore in heart not sad, but merry, Yet if in show good manners she will keep, Onions and Mustard-seed will make her weep