Oh Maister, Maister, take your Staffe againe,
That proove your selfe the most Foole of us twaine;
Have you now liv'd some foure-score yeares and odd,
And all this time, are unprepared for God:
What greater Foole can any meete withall,
Than one that's ready in the Grave to fall,
And is to seeke about his soules estate,
When Death is op'ning of the Prison Gate?
Beare Witnesse friends, that I discharge me plaine;
Heere Maister, heere, receive your Staffe againe: