 | To Rash Iudgement, Tom Foole, and his fellowes |  |
The World's still worse and worse.
A country graue and auntient good old Mother,Had three bad Lndlords, each far worse then tother:
The first, with all his Tennants hardly dealt,
But most extreame, his cruell sonne they felt:
His heire came after him, exacting more,
Then Grandsire, or then Father, did before:
The poore old Woman being quit vndone,
By these three Hell-hounds, Grandsire, Father, sonne,
Pray'd daylie vnto God vpon her knee's,
That shee her last, worst Land-lord, might not leese:
At which (her friend admiring) cra'ud the cause:
Marry (quoth shee) the reason that me drawes
To this deuotion for a wicked man,
Is this, his Grand-sire with me bad began,
His Father worse, this sonne farre more me vext:
Whom if he dye, I feare the Diuell comes next:
Sure t's his turne, the rest haue bin so bad,
Except from Hell, worse neuer can be had.
| To Rash Iudgement, Tom Foole, and his fellowes | |