He laughing aye, did mocke the madnesse of mankynde, Whose loue is long to liue, and feareth much to dye: Death reaues vs from desease, death endes the feare of death: When _Midas_ did demaunde _Silenus_ what was best For mortall man to wishe, the satyre thus did say: “Not to bee borne, if borne, not long our liues to leade, For life I most do lothe, and death I least doo dread.” And how did _Timon_ leade with sauage beastes his lyfe? How did that _Hermite_ poore, his lothsome life detest? Affirming with the wise _Aurelius_ emperour, That if a man shoulde make a true discourse of all The wretched woes he felt, from birth to dying day, The feeble fleshe would faynt to feele so sharpe a fight, The hart would quake to heare dame fortune’s sharpe assaults: And I _Cadwallader_, a king, can make report, That nothing may content the mind of mortall man: The more my selfe did eate, the hungryer ay I was, The more I dranke, the more thirst did me stil distresse, The more I slept, the more I sluggishe did remayne, The more I rested me, the more I wearyed was, The more of wealth I had, the more I dyd desire, The more I still did seeke, the lesse I aye did finde: And to conclude, I founde I neuer coulde obtayne The thing, but in the ende it caused me to complayne: My present good successe, did threaten thrall to come, And changing chaunce did still with sorowe me consume. For which my royall robes, my crowne I layd aside, Meaning to proue by proofe the paynes of pouertye, Which pouertie I felt all ryches to exceede. It beareth much more blesse then hygh and courtly state, _Codrus_ and _Irus_ poore for wealth did farre surpasse: _Midas_ and _Crœsus_ king, for wealth who did surpasse: And I amongst my mates the _Romishe_ fryers, felt More ioye and lesse anoye, then erst in _Britaine_ braue: For there I doubted still, the _Saxon’s_ subtile sleyghtes, I feared there the fall from royall regall seat: But here at _Rome_ I liude not fearing force of foe, I had for myne estate what I coulde wish or craue. And this I there did finde: they of the cleargye be, Of all the men that liue the leste in misery. For all men liue in care, they carelesse do remayne: Like buzzing drones they eate the hony of the bee, They only doo excel for fine felicitie: The king must wage his warres, he hath no quiet day, The noble man must rule with care the common-weale, The countreyman must toyle to tyll the barren soyle, With care the marchant man the surging seas must sayle, With trickling droppes of sweat the handcraftes man doth thriue: With hand as hard as bourde the woorkeman eates his bread, The souldiour in the fielde with paine doth get his pay, The seruing man must serue and crouch with cap and knee, The lawier he must pleade and trudge from bentch to barre,