I found this dirty poem in a British Library Manuscript this summer (BL Add MS 10309). It is Margaret Bellasy’s dirty little ditty about a nose:

A Gallant lasse from out her window saw
A Gentleman whose nose in length exceeded
Her burned less will, but not limited by Law
Imagined he had yet what she most needed;
To speake with him she kindly doth intreat
And him desir’s to solve her darke suppose.
She deeming every thing was made compleat
Find correspondent equall to his nose,
But finding short where she expected long,
She sigh’d and sayd, “O nose thou’st done me wrong”