They only doo excel for fine felicitie:
The king must wage his warres, he hath no quiet day,
The noble man must rule with care the common-weale,
The countreyman must toyle to tyll the barren soyle,
With care the marchant man the surging seas must sayle,
With trickling droppes of sweat the handcraftes man doth thriue:
With hand as hard as bourde the woorkeman eates his bread,
The souldiour in the fielde with paine doth get his pay,
The seruing man must serue and crouch with cap and knee,
The lawier he must pleade and trudge from bentch to barre,