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Revision as of 21:58, 23 November 2015

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
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.
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
Poore. No it is sacred truth, there is not one
Who hath not circled wth a triple brasse