Lett ech man speake as he's possest
I hold the poore man's state most blest.
For if longe lyfe contentment bredes,
In that the poore the ritche exceedes;
The ritch man's dayes are short, as spent
In pleasures and supposed content;
Whylst to us poore men care and troble
Makes every hower wee wast seeme duble.
He that hathe ech daye to his backe
Chandge of gaye suites, whylst wee alacke
Have but one coate, that coorse and ould,
Yet it defends us from the could;
As warme too in an equll eye
As they in all theere purple dye;
'Mongst all theere store, they weare, we see,
But one at once, and so do wee.
The ritche that at his table feasts
With choyse of dayntyes, sundry guests,
In all his plenty can but fill
One belly; so the poore can still
With cheese and onions and disguest[137]
As well with them as th'others feast.
The pesent with his homespoon lasse
As many merry howers may passe
As coortiers with there sattin guerles,
Though ritchly dect in gould and pearles;
And, though but pleyne, to purpose wooe,
Nay ofttymes with lesse danger too.
And yet for all this I have one crotchett left in my fate to bate a new hooke for the gold in the portmanteau.
[Exit.
Actus 4to.