They spend, and that is all that lawe of them requires:
Muse not though many thrust and shoulder for degrees,
For happy man is he, who hath a preacher’s fees:
But let me nowe returne vnto my Romishe rout,
Who fed like bacon fat, did nought but play and pray.
With whom for niene yeares space, when I my life had led,
I songe my requiem, and payde the earth her fee.
Then in Saint Peter’s church at Rome they did me lay,
Booted and spur’d, euen as you see me here this day:
So now you haue the whole of al my tragedye: