[Avarice.]
Avarice. Now, godigod! everyone, both great and small,
From highest to lowest, Godigod to you all!
Godigod! what should I say? even or morn,
If I mark how the day goeth—God give me sorrow!
But, godigod! each one, twenty and twenty score
Of that ye most long for—what would ye have more?
Ye must pardon my wits, for I tell you, plain,
I have a hive of humble bees swarming in my brain;
And he that hath the compass to fetch that I must fetch,
I may say, in counsel, had need his wits to stretch.
But now, what my name is, and what is my purpose—
Taking you all for friends—I fear not to disclose.
My very true, unchristian name is Avarice,
Which I may not have openly known, in no wise;
For, though to most men I am found commodious,
Yet, to those that use me, my name is odious.
For, who is so foolish that the evil he hath wrought
For his own behoof, he would to light should be brought?
Or, who had not rather, his ill doings to hide,
Than to have the same bruited on every side?
Therefore, to work my feat, I will my name disguise;
And call my name Policy instead of Covetise.
The name of Policy is praised of each one;
But, to rake gromwell-seed, Avarice is alone;
The name of Policy is of none suspected—
Policy is ne'er of any crime detected.
So that, under the name and cloak of Policy,
Avarice may work facts, and scape all jealousy.
And, now is the time come that—except I be a beast,
E'en to make up my mouth, and to feather my nest—
A time that I have waited for, a great long space;
And now may I speed my purpose, if I have grace.
For, hear ye, sirrah! our great, grand lady mother,
Noble Dame Respublica, she and none other—
Of the offals, the refuse, the rags, the parings;
The baggage, the trash, the fragments, the sharings;
The odd ends, the crumbs, the driblets, the chippings;
The patches, the pieces, the broklets, the drippings;
The flittance, the scrapings, the wild wai[f]s and strays;
The skimmings, the gubbings of booties and preys;
The gleanings, the casualties, the blind escheats;
The forging of forfeit, the scape of extreats;
Th' excess, the waste, the spoils, the superfluities;
The windfalls, the shreddings, the fleecings, the petty fees;
With a thousand things more, which she may right well lack—
Would fill all these same purses that hang at my back.
Yea! and ten times as many more bags as these,
Which should be but a flea-biting for her to lese;
That, if I may have the grace and hap to blind her,
I doubt not, a sweet lady I shall find her.
To her it were nothing; yet, many a small maketh a great;
And all things would help me whatever I may geat:
Full little know men the great need that I am in.
Do not I spend daily of that that I do win?
Then, age cometh on; and what is a little gold
To keep a man by drede that is feeble and old?
No man, therefore, blame me though I would have more:
The world waxeth hard, and store, (they say), is no sore.
Now, the chance of thieves, in good hour be it spoken—
Out, alas! I fear I left my coffer open.
I am surely undone! alas! where be my kays?
It is gone, that I have sweat for all my live-days!
Woe worth all whoreson thieves, and such covetous knaves!
That, for their winding sheet, would scrape men out of their graves!
[Exeat.
ACTUS PRIMI, SCENA SECUNDA.
Adulation. Insolence. Oppression.
Intrant Canta[n]tes.
Adulation. Oh, noble Insolence! if I could sing as well,
I would look in heaven among angels to dwell.