A COMPENDIORS' DITTY.  
NO wight in this world that wealth can attain,  
unless he believe, that all is but vain,  
And look how it cometh, so leave it to go,  
As tides use their times to ebb and to flow.  
This muck on the mould, that men so desire,  
Doth work them much woe, and moveth them to ire.  
With grief it is got, with care it is kept,  
With sorrow soon lost that long hath been rept.  
And woe worth that man, that first dolve the mould,  
To find out the mine of silver and gold.  
For when it lay hid, and to us unknown,  
Of strife and debate the seed was not sown.  
Than lived men well, and held them content,  
With meat, drink, and cloth, without any reu●.  
Their houses but poor to shroud themselves in:  
For castles and towers were than to begin.  
No town had his wall, they feared 'to war,  
Nor cunemies host to seek them afar.  
So led they their lives in quiet and rest,  
Till hourde began hate from east unto wefte.  
And gold for to grow a lord of great price,  
Which changed the world from virtue to vice,  
And turned all thing so far from his kind,  
That how it should be, is worn out of mind.  
For richesse beareth now the fame and the brute,  
And only the cause of all our pursuit,  
Which maketh among us much mischief to reign,  
And shall till we seek the right way again,  
When marriage was made for virtue and love,  
Than was no divorce God's knot to remove.  
When judges would suffer no bribes in their sight,  
Their judgement was than according to right.  
When prelate's had not possessions nor rent,  
They preached the truth, and truly they went.  
When men did not flatter for favour nor meed,  
Than kings herd the troth, & how the world go.  
And men unto honour through virtue did tice,  
But all this is now turned contrary wise.  
For money maketh all, and ruleth as a god,  
Wiche ought not to be, for Christ it forbade,  
And bad, that we should take nothing in hand,  
But for the lords love and wealth of the land.  
And wills us full oft, that we should refrain  
From wresting his will to make our own gain.  
For covetous folk of every estate,  
As hardly shall entre within heaven gate  
 
 
 
As though perfect bliske should that way arise.  
But if they would suffer to sink in their breast,  
What trouble of mind, what unquiet rest,  
What mischief, what hate this money doth bring,  
They would not so toil for so vile a thing,  
For they that have much, are ever in care,  
Which way to wyune, and how for to spare.  
Their sleeps be unsound for fear of the thief,  
The loss of a little doth work them much grief.  
In seeking their lack they want that the have,  
And subject to that which should be their slave.  
They never do know, whiles richesse doth reign,  
A friend of effect from him that doth feign.  
For flatterers seek where fortune doth dwell,  
And when that she lowreth, they bid them farewell.  
The poor doth them curse as oft as they want.  
In having so much to make it so scant.  
Their children sometimes do wish them in grave,  
That they might possess that richesse they have.  
And that which they win with travail and strife,  
Oftentimes (as we see) doth cost them their life.  
Lo these be the fruits that richesse bringeth forth,  
With many other more, which be no more worth.  
For money is cause of murder and theft,  
Of battle and bloodshed, which would god were left,  
Of ravin, of wrong, of false wytness bearing,  
Of treason conspired, and eke of forswearing.  
And for to be short and knit up the knot,  
Fe●● 〈◊〉 ●●eues at all that mo●e●e maketh not.  
〈…〉 it be ill, when it is abused,  
〈…〉 used.  
As priests should not take promotions in hand,  
To live at their ease lylie lords of the land,  
But only to feed God's flock with the truth,  
To preach and to teach without any sloth.  
Nor folks should not need great richesse to wynue,  
But godly to live, and for to flee sin.  
His will for to work that is their soul's health,  
And than may they think, they live in much wealth.  
For in this vain world that we be now in,  
Is nothing but misery, mischief, and sin,  
Temptaciou, untruth, contention, and strife:  
Than let us not set by so vile a life,  
But lift up our eyes, and look through our faith,  
Beholding his mercies, that many times faith,  
The just men shall live by their good belief,  
And shall have a place where can be no grief,  
But gladness and mirth that none can amend,  
Unspeakable joys, which never shall end,  
With pleasures that pass all that we have sought,  
Fe●●●ters such as can not be thought  
●●●●he place the● shall have that 〈◊〉