They say that the pore men doth god dispyse Thouhe they nought swere but trouth and veryte And that god punyssheth them in suche wyse For so dispysynge of his hye maiestye Kepynge them for their synnes in pouerte And theyr ryche exaltyth by his power and grace To suche ryches, worldly pleasour and solace The ryche ar rewarded with gyftis of dyuerse sorte With Capons and Conyes delycious of sent But the pore caytyf abydeth without confort Though he moste nede haue: none doth hym present The fat pygge is baast, the lene cony is brent He that nought hathe, shall so alway byde pore But he that ouer moche hath, yet shall haue more The wolfe etis the shepe, the great fysshe the small The hare with the houndes vexed ar and frayde He that hath halfe nedes wyll haue all The ryche mannes pleasour can nat be denayde Be the pore wroth, or be he well apayde Fere causeth hym sende vnto the ryches hous His mete from his owne mouth, if it be delycious And yet is this ryche caytyf nat content Though he haue all yet wolde he haue more. And though this gode can neuer of hym be spent With nought he departyth to hym that is pore Though he with nede harde vexed were and sore. O cursyd hunger o mad mynde and delyte. To laboure for that whiche neuer shall do profyte Say couetous caytyfe what doth it the auayle For to haue all and yet, nat to be content Thou takest nat this sore laboure and trauayle To thy pleasoure but to thy great turment But loke therof what foloweth consequent Whan thou art dede and past this wretchyd lyfe Thou leuyst behynde brawlynge debate and stryfe To many one ryches is moche necessary Whiche can it order right as it ought to be But vnto other is it vtterly contrary Whiche therwith disdayneth to socoure pouerte. Nor them relefe in theyr aduersyte Suche shall our lorde sore punysshe fynally And his petycion rightwysly deny BARKLAY TO THE FOLYS. Ye great estatis and men of dignyte To whome god in this lyfe hath sent ryches Haue ye compassion, on paynfull pouertye And them conforte in theyr carefull wretchydnes God hym loueth and shall rewarde doutles Whiche to the nedy for hym is charitable With heuenly ioy, whiche treasour is endeles So shall thy riches to the be profytable. * * * * * Of hym that togyder wyll serue two maysters. [Illustration: A fole he is and voyde of reason Whiche with one hounde tendyth to take Two harys in one instant and season Rightso is he that wolde vndertake Hym to two lordes a seruaunt to make For whether, that he be lefe or lothe The one he shall displease, or els bothe.] A fole also he is withouten doute And in his porpose sothly blyndyd sore Whiche doth entende labour or go aboute To serue god, and also his wretchyd store Of worldly ryches: for as I sayde before He that togyder wyll two maysters serue Shall one displease and nat his loue deserue