 | The Knave of Harts |  |
A proud Knaue.
What makes this foole think all's by him out-fac'd?Is he in rancke with men of worship plac'd?
Or, doth some wit laid hidden in his Braine,
Breake out, and worke a loftie sprited vaine?
Or, doth his wealth encrease, because we finde
Mony makes fooles most diuellish proud in mind?
None of all this, your Iudgement wanders wide,
One sute of cloaths is cause of all this pride:
A fashion that was hatcht some weeke agoe,
By Lucifer in Plutoes Court below,
And sent from that same Prince of darknes there,
As Liuery for his sonnes on earth to weare,
From others for to know his proud ones by,
This is the cause that makes him looke so hie,
An Asse that knowes not all the cloaths we weare
Against our parents fall doe witnesse beare,
And we that had gone naked, weare the same
For punishment of sinne, to couer shame:
Foole, thou art like a pardoned thiefe, allow'd
To weare an halter, and of that hee's proud.
| The Knave of Harts | |