Olde mad-cappes new gally-mawfrey Made into a merrie messe of minglemangle, out of these three idle-conceited humours following. 1 I will not. 2 Oh, the merrie time. 3 Out vpon money.

3 MAD-CAPS Out vpon Money.

OH Money, Money, tis a Monarch such, As makes men know not what thēselues may bee: It makes the churle his neighbors good to grutch And felles the Plant before it be a Tree. And makes the Miller through a Mil-stone see More cunning, towling in a Strike of Rie, Then can be found out by the Farmers eie.

It makes a Wench as tawnie as a Moore, To seeme as faire, as shee were red and whighte. It makes a Rich men make him selfe as poore As hee that were not scarcely worth a Mighte: It makes a Cowarde quarrell with a Knight: Yea, and sometime, to giue him such a blow, As all his strength doth wholly ouerthrow.

It makes a Rascall in his rogish pride, To thrust his Nose at tandom in the winde: And bringes a Groome a wooing to a Bride, That scarce would wish to let him looke behinde, Nor take a Trencher, till her Dogge had dinde: And yet that Subiect of all thoughts disgrace, Shall put a handsome Stripling out of place.

Why? Money puts a Foole into some Wit, And makes a Wise man wary of his will: And puts on Roast-meate on the Beggers Spit: And makes a Bungler learne a better skill, Then take a Trade, and liue by losses still. Why, Money such a power in Mallice beares, As sets a Worlde togither by the eares.

But, what of this? Be Money what it can, Tis but a kinde of purified drosse: The ouerthrow of many an honest Man, That hath not patience to endure a Crosse, While one mans game, doth breed an others losse: And therefore let them loue it that haue store, I would but haue to vse it, and no more.

Is there no God, but Golde? nor good, but gaine? All Siluer Sainctes; that must high worship haue? Is there no Grace, but in the Golden vaine? Where, either be a King, or be a Slaue? No, tis for Fooles, which Fortune so to shaue: Tis Vertue onely bringes the truest wealth, Though Money may do well, to maintaine health.

What reason is there Beautie should haue blame, For getting Money out of Follies handes? Or why should Money haue so ill a name, To lappe a Spend-thrift in vnthriftie bandes? Why, Money is a Monarch ouer landes, And must be sued too, when a Man doth lacke, Or els perhaps be put into a Sacke.

Alas poore Money, how hee is misus'de: And yet I see not who can be without him: I neuer came yet where hee was refus'de, But Cappe and Curtsey, all that came about him: And hee that wantes him, all the world wil flout him: And though some haply finde him idle talke, Yet if hee haue no Money, hee must walke.

Yet be it fit for neuer so good vses, Heede must be taken in the getting of it: For, against Law, there can be no excuses, When Iustice doth in sacred Iudgement sit, And knowes what is for all offences fit: And therefore better tis for to abhorre it, Then come before a Iudge to answeare for it.

No, let no minde that meanes to liue at rest, Goe further for his good, then Law will guide him: But, in the meane, to thinke that musique best, That doth not let too high straines ouer-stride him, Least true Musitians happen to deride him: Vpon ynough, it is ynough to looke, And what is more, is quite beside the booke.

Profite doth well, but Honestie is better: But, both doth well, and parted much amisse: Each sence is not according to the letter, The trueth in deede in the construction is, Where Wit may finde, that Will not walke amisse, In the true iudgement of Discretions eyes, A man may be both wealthy, kinde, and wise.

But, since it is so hard a thing to doo, To gather Wealth with perfect Honestie: It is to strange a thing to come vntoo, With men of onely Worldes capacitie: Let me but labour for Necessitie, Feede, cloathe, and keepe the Begger from the dore, Pay that I owe, and I desire no more.

For, let the Greedy-minde gape after Pelfe, Hee may be choaked when his throat is null: The Shippe may tunne vnhapply on a Shelfe, That little doubted, when it lay at hull: What is the Sheepe that neuer lost his Wooll? Or what is hee, that must not leaue his Golde, How deere soeuer hee his Treasure holde?

Vngodly Drosse, why should it so be witch The mindes of men, to take away their mindes, As in too many that are too too rich? Where Catching-spirites Auarice so blindes, As in their Bagges, their begger comfort bindes: Oh hatefull Coyne, that can inuent such euill, As so from God, to sende men to the Deuill.

But yet I thinke, I haue my selfe mistaken, Tis but the vse, that makes it good or ill: In an ill sence it ought to be forsaken; But in a good, it helpes a forward will: Then as I sayd, it is a blessed skill, So to conceiue, perceiue, to take and vse it, That Wit may haue no Reason to refuse it.

For he that lookes vpon a World of Wealth, May hap be Subiect to this bagidge drosse: And when he thinkes on that vngodly stealth, That makes a gaine of many a thousandes losse: It may be to his Comfort such a Crosse, That he would wish for Iob his pouertie, Rather then Diues superfluitie.

But let each Conscience commune with it selfe, And put off Passions with Discretions care: I leaue the Scraper to his scratching pelfe, And, wish the honest wealthy all wellfare: And, to my selfe but an indifferent share, That when Good fortunes lots doe kindly fall, I might haue some, although my some be small.

But Wishers, Wise-men say, are idle woulders, And wish and would, is worth but little ware: And they, that are no better knowne housholders, Doe oft at dinner, keepe their Table bare, Where emptie dishes giue but hungry fate: And therefore let them wish for Wealth that list, I'le play the foole no more with Had-I-wist.

What I can get, or keepe, or kindly saue, That's vp with fiue; well got, and well spent: A little Spade will make a Great mans Graue: And, hee liues happie, that can die content: And, hee accursed, that is passion rent With griefe, and feare to loose their comfortes heere, And lacke the Ioyes that to the soule are deere.

But, let it goe; for tis a perlous thing For many a man almost to meddle withall: It makes some daunce within a wicked Ring, When that the Theefe doth from the Gallows fall, And doth the Wittes of many a minde enstall: So that in fine, since such it is I see, Let them that list, gape after Golde for mee.

And seeke the treasure of the Spirites wealth, Where no Corruption enters with Infection: But Holy-loue maintaines the truest health, And keepes the Sences in their best perfection: While-Fayth is fed, but with the Soules affection: And in that Treasure to repose my trust, Which can not fayle, not with the Canker rust.

FINIS.