Theyr fete them faylyth so fall they in the myre
Promote a yeman, make hym a gentyl man
And make a Baylyf of a Butchers son
Make of a Squyer knyght, yet wyll they if they can
Coueyt in theyr myndes hyer promosyon
And many in the worlde haue this condicion
In hope of honour by treason to conspyre
But ofte they slyde, and so fall in the myre
Suche lokys so hye that they forget theyr fete
On fortunes whele whiche turneth as a ball