Admit thou come, into a place vnknowne; And no man knowes, of whence, or what thou art: If once thy faire _Pecunia_, shee be showne, Thou art esteem'd a man of great Desart: And placed at the Tables vpper ende; Not for thine owne sake, but thy faithfull frende. But if you want your Ladies louely grace, And haue not wherewithall to pay your shot, Your Hostis pressently will step in Place, You are a Stranger (Sir) I know you not: By trusting Diuers, I am run in Det; Therefore of mee, nor meate nor Bed you get. O who can then, expresse the worthie praise, Which faire _Pecunia_ iustly doeth desarue? That can the meanest man, to Honor raise; And feed the soule, that ready is to starue. Affection, which was wont to bee so pure, Against a golden Siege, may not endure. Witnesse the trade of Mercenary sinne; (Or Occupation, if thou list to tearme it) Where faire _Pecunia_ must the suite beginne; (As common-tride Experience doeth confirme it) Not _Mercury_ himselfe, with siluer Tongue, Can so inchaunt, as can a golden Songue. When nothing could subdue the _Phrygian Troy_, (That Citty through the world so much renowned) _Pecunia_ did her vtterly destroy: And left her fame, in darke Obliuion drowned. And many Citties since, no lesse in fame, For Loue of her, haue yeelded to their shame. What Thing is then, so well belou'd as money? It is a speciall Comfort to the minde; More faire then Women are; more sweet then honey: Easie to loose, but very harde to finde. In fine, to him, whose Purse beginns to faint, Golde is a God, and Siluer is a Saint. The Tyme was once, when Honestie was counted A Demy god; and so esteem'd of all: But now _Pecunia_ on his Seate is mounted; Since Honestie in great Disgrace did fall. No state, no Calling now, doeth him esteeme; Nor of the other ill, doeth any deeme. The reason is, because he is so poore: (And who respects the poore, and needie Creature?) Still begging of his almes, from Doore to Doore: All ragd, and torne; and eeke deformed in feature. In Countinance so changde, that none can know him; So weake, and euery vice doeth ouerthrow him. But faire _Pecunia_, (most diuinely bred) For sundrie shapes, doth _Proteus_ selfe surpasse: In one Lande, she is suted all in Lead; And in another, she is clad in Brasse: But still within the Coast of _Albion_, She euer puts, her best Apparell on. Siluer and Golde, and nothing else is currant, In _Englands_, in faire _Englands_ happy Land: All baser sorts of Mettalls, haue no Warrant; Yet secretly they _slip_, from hand to hand. If any such be tooke, the same is lost, And pressently is nayled on a Post.