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[The Courte of Vertu

contaynynge many holy songes, Sonettes, psalmes and ballettes] [by John Hall]

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A dittie of the pen inueiyng against vsury and false dealyng.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


[87]

A dittie of the pen inueiyng against vsury and false dealyng.

My pen obey my wyll a whyle
till I see good to ende this stile:
for if all men would sinne abhorre
such songs we nede not to compile,
nor my pen should write so no more.
If all men of their worde were true,
Promis to kepe and paye their due:
What nede had pennes to worke therfore?

88

But sythe no whyght wyll truthe ensue:
Pennes were as good to wryte no more.
Pennes are abusde, and that dayly,
About all craft and vsury:
We may well say alas therfore.
And yet least we make them angry
It semes as good to wryte no more.
Yet let vs shewe the lordes intent,
Howe that for gaynes nought should be lent,
All fashod God wyll plage ryght sore.
And yet my penne least we be shent,
It semes as good to wryte no more.
For all in vayne we speake scripture,
To suche as wyll in synne endure?
For they amende neuer the more.
But hate all godly counsayle pure.
That warneth them to synne no more.
Yet if all men with suche pretence,
Should cease to shewe their conscience,
They should transgresse gods holy lore.
Yet sythe none wyll it reuerence,
It semes as good to wryte no more.
The scripture thus doth specifie
In Dauids psalmes, blessed is he,
That lendeth freely ryche and poore.
Without all gayne of vsury:
Yet doe they vse it styll the more.
Though some for writing wyl vs blame.

[88]

These crafty men, whome we not name,
These false gotte goodes they must restore,
To those of whom they got the same,
Or els be damnde for euer more.
For though some men haue bene er thys,
In vsury that dyd amys,
And haue bene warnde of it before:
That doo repent yet fewe there ys,
But rather vse it more and more.
But sure in hell theyr bed is made,
And all that vse of crafte the trade
Are lyke the same to rue ryght sore:
In crafte and guyle yet syth they wade,
It were as good to wryte no more.
God graunt as in this song is ment,
We may amende all and repent:
Rootyng out vyce to the herde core,
To serue the lorde omnipotent,
In loue and truthe for euermore.