Diogenes, which used a barrel for his house, Being fled from his father to the city of Athens, Comforted himself much in beholding the mouse, Which desired neither castle nor hold for her defence; Concerning sustentation she made no difference, But ate whatsoever to her did befall, And, touching her apparel, she had least care of all; This poor mouse's property noted Diogenes, Which oftentimes also he would have in sight, And though he were disciple unto Antisthenes, Yet he learned of the mouse as much as he might; In the science of 'sophy he had great delight, But concerning his state and outward condition, The most can declare, if you make inquisition. On a time he chanced accompanied to be With Alexander, which stood between him and the sun: What requirest thou to have, Diogenes (quod he)? Is there any thing that by me may be done? I pray thee stand aside, and make a little room (Quod Diogenes), that the sun upon me may shine, Nought else require I of that that is thine. He used to say, that as servants be obedient To their bodily masters, being in subjection, Even so evil men, that are not content, Are subjects and slaves to their lusts and affection; This lesson unto us may be a direction Which way our inclination to bridle and subdue, Namely, if we labour the same to eschew. Thus see you how little this philosopher esteemed The abundant possessions of this mundane treasure, Which yet, notwithstanding, at these days is deemed To be the original and fountain of pleasure; This causeth lust to reign without measure, To the which men are subjects, Diogenes doth say, Yet both lust and treasure in time weareth away. A philosopher is he that wisdom doth love, Which before Pythagoras wise men were named. Now, Diogenes being wise, this doth approve That some men of this age ought as fools to be blamed. For where the one with treasure-lack his life framed, The other travail, care, and labour with greediness The same by all means to enjoy and possess. As lust with the lusts converteth to dust, And leaveth of force his pleasant prosperity, So treasure in time is turned to rust, As St James, in his epistle, showeth the verity; Hereof we purpose to speak without temerity, Therefore our matter is named the _Trial of Treasure_, Which time doth expel with all mundane pleasure. Both merry and short we purpose to be, And therefore require your pardon and patience; We trust in our matter nothing you shall see, That to the godly may give any offence; Though the style be barbarous, not fined with eloquence, Yet our author desireth your gentle acceptation, And we the players likewise with all humiliation. * * * * * _Enter_ LUST, _like a gallant, singing this song_.