University of Virginia Library

What is the cause that none content will liue,
In that estate which choise or chance doth giue,
But euermore a nouell life pursues,
And praiseth that another man doth vse?
Th' vnwildie warrior brusde with toile, and spent
With groueling eld, saith, most of all content
O blisfull life, O merchants fortunate:
The Merchant saith misliking this estate,
When Southerne windes with raine bedagled wings
Swell vp the seas, and him neare shipwracke brings:
Warre's better, why? they fight, and presently,
Or quicke death comes, or ioyfull victory:
The Counsellor when as the clyent waites,
And fore the cocks crow knocketh at his gates,
Cries, happie husbandman, his bed which keeps,
And lullabies his thoughts with carelesse sleepes:
The countryman, if for a surety sent,
Vnto the cittie he is euer bent,
To gape, and pore, and staring wide he pries
On euery mocke-Ape toy which he espies,
Iogging his mate vpon the elbow, he
Sweares cittizens the blessed people be.
The residue of these new fangles would,
(They are so many which I haue enrould)
Tyre-prating Fabius, lest I thee delay,
Heare in a word. Suppose some god would say,
Your likings all I wondrous well allow,
I will effect your will: and souldier, thou
Shalt be a Merchant, Counsellor I giue
To thee thy wish, a farmer thou shalt liue:
Your trades are turnd, depart here from my sight,
Why stand you still? they will not though they might
Accept this blisfull and their chiefest boone,
Then what's the cause but Ioue of right may soone,
In wrathfull moode engorge his swelling cheeke
Gainst all this sort, and heare not them which seeke,
And sue to change their present state hereafter?

But lest some say, too much I mingle laughter,
Though what forbids but that the iester may
Speake truth in toyes, and make the Reader stay,
As faire spoke Pedants, teaching country schooles,
With butterd bread will lure the little fooles,
To learne their Crosse-row: but Ile make an end
Of trifles now, and serious things vnbend:
The country swaine which shares the yeelding leas,
The Mariner that furrowes vp the seas,
The Tauerner which reakes not much to lie,
And Souldier, say, the cause they trauaile why,
Is this, that when vnnimble three-legg'd age,
There stronger yeares, or moyling toyle doth swage,
That then they might of all sufficient haue,
Least easelesse neede their bodie bring to graue.
Not much vnlike the little Ant that moiles,
(A little beast, but one of greatest toile)
And drawes her dainties thwart the hillie soile
By might of mouth: and placed in her cell,
In all she may, she huswiues it so well:
Layes it in piles, and shroudes it vnder roofe,
As one which were not for to learne the proofe
Of winters wrath, when sleeting Ianiuere,
With sullen shoures saddes the beginning yeare:
Within her caue she keepes her festiuall,
And feeles the fruit of her prouision all
In Summer time. But thee, nor scorching heate,
Nor shuddering cold,
Nor stormie seas, nor winter, fire, nor sword,
Nor ought can keepe from heaping vp thy hord.
Thy glutton mind with moath-consuming pelfe,
Whilst one thou seest be richer then thy selfe:
What vailes it thee to grubbe this waight of molde,
So fearefully this Idoll god thy gold,
In hugger mugger euermore to hide,
Which if thou spend, no farthing will abide,
And if thou snudge, and coffert from the sunne,
What shew makes it, what good is thereby wonne?
Of corne dehuskt admit thou hast in store,
An hundreth thousand Mets on thy barne flore,
What comes thereby? thy bellie holds no more
Then mine, as if to hirelings thou wert sent,
Thy shoulders fraught with bags of bread, thou went,
And they receiuing what thou thither brought,
Thou gaines no more then him which carried nought.

Or answere this: to him which doth propound
Nature his guide, what booteth him of ground,
Whether that he an hundreth acres tilles,
Or else a thousand? But to him which filles,
From a huge heape, thou saist, It feeds the eie,
And in the same we condiscend to thee,
Whilst our repaste contents the mind alwaies,
Shunning all not: wherefore dost thou praise,
Thy corne-stuft gardners, boue our sacks? wee feed
On them as well as you, they serue our neede.
As if thou must thy pot with water fill,
And by thy side a fountaine doth distill:
Yet for affection, and to please thine eie,
Vnto a riuer further off thoult hie:
At which, whilst some haue reacht beyond the brim,
The banks haue burst, and they haue fallen in.
But he that takes to serue his vse, no more,
The troubled water neare the slimie shore,
Needes not to drinke, his flaming thirst to coole,
Nor drowning feare within the muddie poole:
But greatest part of men with poyson'd baite
Of wealth bewitch'd, aboundance in ech state
Is all their blisse, their God, and earthly store,
A man is but his money, and no more.
What punishment shall we deuise or find,
For him that hath this vnder-eating mind?
Lets suffer him in sinne to wallow still,
And wretched be so long as er'e he will.
Such one we reade of dwelt in Athens towne,
In substance rich, but yet a niggard clowne:
Whose couetize the world would euer hisse,
Of infamie he still regardlesse is.
Let people hisse and mocke me as they list,
Whilst with my gold (quoth he) lockt in my chest,
I please my selfe, mine eie still viewing is
My gold, my goods, my God and heauenly blisse.
Dry Tantalus doth oft aspire to taste
The gliding water, but his labour's waste.
Why dost thou laugh? what pleasure dost thou take
To loue this gold, which endlesse griefe doth make?
For thou endur'st his fate, take but his name,
This fable's told of thee, thou art the same.
What though amidst thy heaped bagges thou sleepe,
When fearefull dreames thy mind awaking keepe,
And that (which thy confusion will bring,)
Thou sparest it like to some holy thing:
And Tymon-like thou dost but please thine eie,
With that which should thine honour raise on hie.
As though it were in pictures to delight,
Thou dost not know the vse of money right,
Disburse it so for to supplie thy want:
Let bread be bought, hearbs, wine, or what is scant,
By which abating Nature waxeth faint.
To wake daies, nights to stand in awe and feare
Of theeues, least of thy riches they should heare.
Of fire, of seruants, least they pilfer thee,
Be these thy gaines? Ioue then this boone to me
Grant, that deuoyd of wealth I euer be.

But if the cough chance trouble sore thy head,
Or some disease do cause thee keepe thy bed,
Thou hast thy friends still at thy elbow prest,
Which will prouide confections of the best:
Cunning Phisitians for thy helpe procure,
And to thy sonnes and kinsfolke thee restore,
With potions will in perfect health againe.

Thou art deceiu'd, thy wife she workes thy baine,
Thy sonne, thy neighbours maides, acquaintance all
Weepe, but lest death should linger in thy fall:
What meruaile is't when siluer was thy Lord,
None loue thee? thou deseru'st no louing word,
For if thy kinsmen and thy friends thou will
With slight regard thus bind in friendship still,
Thy labour's vaine, perseuerance in loue,
Discordeth much. Thou maist as well aboue,
The sluggish Asse a golden saddle set,
And teach him chew the bit, plaie, and curuet:

This be the end: when much thou hast in store,
Then feare not want, and trauaile for no more:
Thy wil accomplisht, liue then at thine ease,
Let not Ouidius greedie mind thee please,
It is too long to tell how he would turne
His coomed coyne which shoules nor would adorne,
His corps with cloaths, but like the poorest wight,
No better then his seruant euer dight,
Fearing his riches would in time asswage,
And he sustaine great penury in his age:
But loe his wife (of Greekish dames most bold)
Did cut his throte, so ended he and's gold
What, is it best like Meuius to liue?
Or all my goods like Momentanus giue
To whores and bawdes? why dost thou thus compare
Extremities, all spend, or else all spare?
I would not thee a greedie cormorant haue,
Wilt thou then be a drunkard and a knaue?
There is a difference twixt the Eunuch Taine,
And Hermosus that most luxurious swaine.
A meane there is in all things, bonds be pight
On this side or beyond which nought stands right.
But now at length to come to my request,
How hapneth it that no man liketh best
His owne estate? His neighbours goate doth beare
A bigger bagge, her milke is farre more cleare.
Comparing him not to the greater sort,
Whose state is base, who liues in meane apport:
But shoots at high'st, with him he doth contend
To passe in coine, and so there is no end:
For he that all men meanes to leaue behind,
In running shall some richer euer find:
As when to winne some lawrell crowned fame,
The Charrioter (as in th' olympick game)
Lashing his thundring Coursers makes the ground,
(Whose rising face their fierie hoofes doth wound.)
To shake, and dandle, neuer lookes behind
At those he coates, but swifter then the wind.
Scoures forward still, to ouergo the rest,
And here it comes that he hath liued blest
Not one will say: A man we seldome find,
So cloyd with th' world, as one which hath new dinde
Is with his meate: none in s extreamest dayes.
Will part from life, as from a feast his waies.
But drad Mecœnas, now this shall suffize,
Least thou suppose my volume would arize
Greater then that which bleare-eide Crispine made.
Not one word more at this time shall be sayd.