 | The Melancholie Knight |  |
37
To all miserable Misers.
You carelesse raking, greedy getting slaues,That neuer haue enough till in your graues,
Vntill Death haue you prisners in his hold,
As you in chests locke vp your bagges of golde,
You that haue that excessiue wealth lyes by,
Would furnish twentie such poore Knights as I,
I doe detest you all as dunghill swaines,
You dogged Nabals with your cursed gaines,
That loue base lucre so entirely well,
You'le venter soules, as Diues did to hell;
And heere I vowe, promise, and firme protest
I scorne this hoording money in a chest,
That golden sin on me shall neuer light,
As cleere as is the childe was borne last night;
From keeping money lying on my hand,
So much kinde gentle Reader vnderstand,
With Bias I doe giue the world this flout,
All that is mine I beare with mee about.
| The Melancholie Knight | |