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The Scriueners seruants Song of Holborne.

12.

My master is so wise, so wise, that hee's proceeded wittall,
My Mistris is a foole, a foole, and yet tis the most get-all.
Let the Vsurer cram him in interest that excell,
Their pits enough to damme him before he goes to hell.
In Holborne some. In Fleetestreete some,
Where care he come, there some, there some.