I presse to beare no haughty swaye;
Look what I lack, my mynde supplies;
Lo, thus I triumph like a kynge,
Content with that my mynde doth bringe.
"Some have too muche, yet still do crave,
I little have and seek no more,
They are but poore, though muche they have,
And I am ryche with lyttle store;
They poore, I ryche, they begge, I gyve,
They lacke, I leave, they pyne, I lyve.