Volume 2 — THE MANER OF THE WORLD NOW A DAYES.[601]

So many poynted caps Lased with double flaps, And so gay felted hats, Sawe I never: So many good lessons, So many good sermons, And so few devocions, Sawe I never. So many gardes worne, Jagged and al to-torne, 10 And so many falsely forsworne, Sawe I never: So few good polycies In townes and cytyes For kepinge of blinde hostryes Sawe I never. So many good warkes, So few wel lerned clarkes, And so few that goodnes markes, Sawe I never: 20 Such pranked cotes and sleves, So few yonge men that preves, And such encrease of theves, Sawe I never. So many garded hose, Such cornede shoes, And so many envious foes, Sawe I never: So many questes sytte With men of smale wit, 30 And so many falsely quitte, Sawe I never. So many gay swordes, So many altered wordes, And so few covered bordes, Sawe I never: So many empti purses, So few good horses, And so many curses, Sawe I never. 40 Such bosters and braggers, So newe fashyoned daggers, And so many beggers, Sawe I never: So many propre knyves, So well apparrelled wyves And so yll of theyr lyves, Saw I never. So many cockolde makers, So many crakers, 50 And so many peace breakers, Saw I never: So much vayne clothing With cultyng and jagging, And so much bragginge, Saw I never. So many newes and knackes, So many naughty packes, And so many that mony lackes, Saw I never: 60 So many maidens with child And wylfully begylde, And so many places untilde, Sawe I never. So many women blamed And rightuously defaimed, And so lytle ashamed, Sawe I never: Widowes so sone wed After their husbandes be deade, 70 Having such hast to bed, Sawe I never. So much strivinge For goodes and for wivinge, And so lytle thryvynge, Sawe I never: So many capacities, Offices and pluralites, And chaunging of dignities, Sawe I never. 80 So many lawes to use The truth to refuse, Suche falshead to excuse, Sawe I never: Executers havinge the ware, Taking so littel care Howe the soule doth fare, Sawe I never. Amonge them that are riche No frendshyp is to kepe tuche, 90 And such fayre glosing speche Sawe I never: So many pore In every bordoure, And so small soccoure, Saw I never. So proude and so gaye, So riche in araye, And so skant of money, Saw I never: 100 So many bowyers, So many fletchers, And so few good archers, Saw I never. So many chepers, So fewe biers, And so many borowers, Sawe I never: So many alle sellers In baudy holes and sellers, 110 Of yonge folkes yll counsellers, Sawe I never. So many pinkers, So many thinkers, And so many good ale drinkers, Sawe I never: So many wronges, So few mery songes, And so many yll tonges, Sawe I never. 120 So many a vacabounde Through al this londe, And so many in pryson bonde, I sawe never: So many citacions, So fewe oblacions, And so many newe facions, Sawe I never. So many fleyng tales, Pickers of purses and males, 130 And so many sales, Saw I never: So much preachinge, Speaking fayre and teaching, And so ill belevinge, Saw I never. So much wrath and envy, Covetous and glottony, And so litle charitie, Sawe I never: 140 So many carders, Revelers and dicers, And so many yl ticers, Sawe I never. So many lollers, So few true tollers, So many baudes and pollers, Sawe I never: Such treachery, Simony and usury, 150 Poverty and lechery, Saw I never. So many avayles, So many geales, And so many fals baylies,[602] Sawe I never: By fals and subtyll wayes All England decayes, For more envy and lyers[603] Sawe I never. 160 So new facioned jackes With brode flappes in the neckes, And so gay new partlettes, Sawe I never: So many slutteshe cookes, So new facioned tucking hookes, And so few biers of bookes, Saw I never. Sometime we song of myrth and play, But now our joy is gone away, 170 For so many fal in decay Sawe I never: Whither is the welth of England gon? The spiritual saith they have none, And so many wrongfully undone Saw I never. It is great pitie that every day So many brybors go by the way, And so many extorcioners in eche cuntrey Sawe I never. 180 To thé, Lord, I make my mone, For thou maist healpe us everichone: Alas, the people is so wo begone, Worse was it never! Amendment Were convenient, But it may not be; We have exiled veritie. God is neither dead nor sicke; He may amend al yet, 190 And trowe ye so in dede, As ye beleve ye shal have mede. After better I hope ever, For worse was it never. Finis. J. S.