His remaining ten years at court, where
Cards and dice, with Venus' vice,
And peevish pride, from virtue wide,
With some so wraught,
That Tyburn play, made them away,
Or beggars state.
His residing in Suffolk, as a farmer,
To moil and toil,
With loss and pain, to little gain,
To cram Sir Knave;
his removal to near Dereham Abbey, which he left, (though stored with flesh and fish) from the squabbles and brawls of lord with lord; the death of the worthy Sir Richard Southwell,
——that jewel great,
Which op'd his door to rich and poor,
So bounteously,—
on whose decease he was left to sink or swim; his removal to Salisbury, as a singing man; thence
With sickness worn, as one forlorn,
he removed to a parsonage house in Essex, to collect tithes, in its miry ways; his foreboding the parson's death, and foreseeing new charges about to be made for tithes,
——I spy'd, if parson died,
(All hope in vain) to hope for gain,
I might go dance;
Once rid my hand, of pars'nage land,
Hence, by-and-by, away went I
To London straight, to hope and wait
For better chance.