Part of Poore (transcription)

Fol. 21r
	Actus Imus Scæna Ia.
	Poore.
Welcome thou instrument of liberty        offreth to stab himselfe
Sly	Hold hold
Poore:	It is a most vnthankfull office;
	To save a man vnwilling is to murder.
	What hath this world of myne that I should covet
	Longer to stay wth it? nor have you reason
	Thus to detaine mee, I must greiving say it
	Through mee you want what might have well sustaind you	10
	And your last store scarce panteth nourishment
	Vnto your selfe and sister.
Sly	How truely rich
	Though having nothing, for contemning all?
Poore.	True very wise, nay rich, if hee could gett
	Even wth his best indeauour nourishment:
	But that now wants whose rich hees only wise
	T'is the receaved opinion, and what arts
	Are meanly shrouded in a thred bare coate
	Want theire due forme, thats a privation of it.	20
	The worst of ills that is in misery
	Is that it gives a man contemptible
	Makes him a scoffe to every painted asse
	Wch beares a golden image, every slave
	Wch came into this Cytty wth bare feete
	And since hath heap'd vp by mechanicke basenes
	Abundant riches will contem the state
	That nature brought him to and no more pitty it,
	Then wisedome will a snake pin'd wth much cold
Sly:	you much erre	30
Poore.	No it is sacred truth, there is not one
	Who hath not circled wth a triple brasse
	…

Fol. 21b
	His more obdurate heart, each man doth live
	As hee were enemy to the whole world.
	There is a spatious distance twixt the heart,
	And tongue of every man, they speak and doe
	Nought that hath smallest coherence wth theire minds;
	They doe even strive vnto it wth theire full nerves.
Sly	Imitate theire manners.
Poore:	You advise well, I shall, and digg a prey	40
	From out theire frozen intrailes, wch shall nourish vs,
	Feede vs wth laughter, cramm vs full wth gold.
	I'le hold as firme antipathy wth men,
	As doe the elements amongst themselves.
Sly	they doe generate
Poore:	Soe will not I vnlesse a misery,
	And wanton spleene to laugh at it.
Sly	will force frequent troops
	Of clyents, to your lure.
Poore:	And being well lured,	50
	Ile cramm them soe they shall not breath to flight.
	Let's see they may doe well if more harsh fate
	Bite not our blooming fortunes.
Strange	beene ith fashion to
Poore.	Whilst wee, Apollo's children, wch are given
	To the true study of whats purely good,
	Share not the least part of it in effect.
	Our merits are defects, and only staines,
	Disgraces to mans glosse, in mans false eyes.
	The heaven of our glory shines no more,	60
	Than a faint candles light, in a proud sunn.
	Oh Iove! oh Iove! Why hast thou warn'd thy thunder?[?]
	It should not dare to tough Apollo's tree?
	Yet suffrest vilder more inferiour stro<a>kes