Autumn nest of the empty purse!”
Master Spenser, your looks are spare;
Princes’ favours, how fleet they be!
Thinking that yours was the selfsame fare,
Crust or crumb shall be sweet to me.
Worshipful Shakespeare of Stratford town,
Prosperous-portly in doublet red,
What of the days when you first came down
To London city to earn your bread?
What of the lodging where Juliet’s face