Classic Poem

A spending hand that alway powreth owte
Had nede to have a bringer in as fast,
And on the stone that still doeth tourne abowte
There groweth no mosse: these proverbes yet do last.
Reason hath set theim in so sure a place
That lenght of yeres their force can never wast.
When I remembre this and eke the case
Where in thou stondes I thowght forthwith to write,
Brian, to the, who knowes how great a grace
In writing is to cownsell man the right.
To the, therefore, that trottes still up and downe,
And never restes, but runnyng day and nyght
From Reaulme to Reaulme, from cite, strete and towne.
Why doest thou were thy body to the bones,
And myghtst at home slepe in thy bed of downe
And drynk goode ale so nappy for the noyns.
Fede thy self fat and hepe up pownd by pownd?
Lykist thou not this? No. Why? For swyne so groyns
In stye and chaw the tordes molded on the grownd,
And dryvell on perilles, the hed still in the maunger,
Then of the harp the Asse to here the sownd.
So sackes of durt be filled up in the cloyster
That servis for lesse then do thes fatted swyne.
Tho I seme lene and dry withoute moyster,
Yet woll I serve my prynce, my lord and thyn,
And let theim lyve to fede the panche that list,
So I may fede to lyve both me and myn.
By god, well sayde! But what and if thou wist
How to bryng in as fast as thou doest spend?
That would I lerne. And it shall not be myst
To tell the how. Now hark what I intend.
Thou knowst well first who so can seke to plese
Shall pourchase frendes where trowght shall but offend
Fle therefore trueth; it is boeth welth and ese.
For tho that trouth of every man hath prayse,
Full nere that wynd goeth trouth in great misese.
Use vertu as it goeth now a dayes:
In word alone to make thy langage swete,
And of the dede yet do not as thou sayse;
Elles be thou sure thou shalt be farr unmyt
To get thy bred, eche thing is now so skant.
Seke still thy proffet upon thy bare fete.
Lend in no wise, for fere that thou do want,
Onles it be as to a dogge a chese;
By which retorne be sure to wyn a kant
Of half at lest: it is not goode to lese.
Lerne at Kittson that in a long white cote
From under the stall withoute landes or feise
Hath lept into the shopp; who knoweth by rote
This rule that I have told the here before.
Sumtyme also riche age begynneth to dote:
Se thou when there thy gain may be the more.
Stay him by the arme where so he walke or goo;
Be nere alway: and if he koggh to sore,
When he hath spit tred owte and please him so.
A diligent knave that pikes his maisters purse
May please him so that he withouten mo
Executor is: and what is he the wourse?
But if so chaunce you get nought of the man,
The wedow may for all thy charge deburse.
A ryveld skyn, a stynking breth, what than?
A tothles mowth shall do thy lips no harme:
The gold is good and tho she curse or ban,
Yet where the list thou maist ly good and warme;
Let the old mule byte upon the bridill,
Whilst there do ly a swetter in thyn arme.
In this also se you be not Idell:
Thy nece, thy cosyn, thy sister or thy doghter,
If she be faire, if handsom be her myddell,
Yf thy better hath her love besoght her,
Avaunce his cause and he shall help thy nede.
It is but love: turne it to a lawghter.
But ware, I say, so gold the helpe and spede,
That in this case thow be not so unwise
As Pandare was in suche a like dede;
For he the fooll of conscience was so nyse
That he no gayn would have for all his payne.
Be next thy self, for frendshipp beres no prise.
Laughst thou at me? Why, do I speke in vayne?
No, not at the, but at thy thrifty gest.
Wouldest thou I should for any losse or gayne
Chaunge that for gold that I have tan for best,
Next godly thinges, to have an honest name?
Should I leve that, then take me for a best!
Nay then, farewell, and if you care for shame,
Content the then with honest povertie,
With fre tong what the myslikes to blame,
And for thy trouth sumtyme adversitie:
And therewithall this thing I shall the gyve--
In this worould now litle prosperite,
And coyne to kepe as water in a syve.