And when he hath her, in his owne possession, He locks her in an iron-barred Chest, And doubting somewhat, of the like Transgression, He holds that iron-walled Prison best. And least some _rusty_ sicknesse should infect her, He often visits her, and doeth respect her. As for the young man (subiect vnto sinne) No maruell though the Diuell doe distresse him; To tempt mans frailtie, which doth neuer linne, Who many times, hath not a _Crosse_ to blesse him: But how can hee incurre the Heauens Curse, That hath so many _Crosses_ in his Purse? Hee needes not feare those wicked sprights, that waulke Vnder the Couerture of cole-blacke Night; For why the Diuell still, a _Crosse_ doeth baulke, Because on it, was hangd the Lorde of Light: But let not Mysers trust to _siluer Crosses_, Least in the End, their gaines be turnd to losses. But what care they, so they may hoorde vp golde? Either for God, or Diuell, or Heauen, or Hell? So they may faire _Pecuniaes_ face behold; And euery Day, their Mounts of Money tell. What tho to count their Coyne, they neuer blin, Count they their Coyne, and counts not God their sin? But what talke I of sinne, to Vsurers? Or looke for mendment, at a Mysers hand? _Pecunia_, hath so many followers, Bootlesse it is, her Power to with-stand. King _Couetise_, and _Warinesse_ his Wife, The Parents were, that first did giue her Life. But now vnto her Praise I will proceede, Which is as ample, as the Worlde is wide: What great Contentment doth her Pressence breede In him, that can his wealth with Wysdome guide? She is the Soueraigne Queene, of all Delights: For her the Lawyer pleades; the Souldier fights. For her, the Merchant venters on the Seas: For her, the Scholler studdies at his Booke: For her, the Vsurer (with greater ease) For sillie fishes, layes a siluer hooke: For her, the Townsman leaues the Countrey Village: For her, the Plowman giues himselte to Tillage. For her, the Gentlemen doeth raise his rents: For her, the Seruingman attends his maister: For her, the curious head new toyes inuents: For her, to Sores, the Surgeon layes his plaister. In fine for her, each man in his Vocation, Applies himselfe, in euerie sev'rall Nation. What can thy hart desire, but thou mayst haue it, If thou hast readie money to disburse? Then thanke thy Fortune, that so freely gaue it; For of all friends, the surest is thy purse. Friends may proue false, and leaue thee in thy need; But still thy Purse will bee thy friend indeed.