The praise of Nothing:  
Though some do wonder why I writ in praise  
Of Nothing, in these lamentable days,  
When they have read, and will my counsel take,  
I hope of Nothing something they may make.  
To the tune of, Though I have but a mark a year, etc.  

 
 

THe praise of wisdom some do write,  
and some the praise of money:  
And every one like Bees to th' hive,  
from something gather honey.  
But if my Genius do not fail,  
To promp me ere I end my tale,  
You'll find that nothing will prevail,  

for all must turn to nothing.    

Nothing was first, and shall be last,  
for nothing holds for ever,  
And nothing ever yet 'scaped death,  
so can't the longest liver:  
Nothing's Immortal, nothing can,  
From crosses ever keep a man,  
Nothing can live, when the world is gone,  

for all shall come to nothing.    

Nothing in all the world we find,  
with sorrow more perplexed,  
Then he that with a scolding wife,  
eternally is vexed.  
Whose tongue by nothing can be quelled,  
Although with red hot spincers held  
For she will to no reason yield,  

but scold and brawl for nothing.    

Nothing is swifter than the wind,  
or lighter than a feather,  
Yet I another thing have found,  
which quite excelleth either:  
A harlot's love, that every day,  
Is changed and swiftly blown away,  
But what's more light than her, I pray,  

the wiseman answers nothing.    

Nothing shall therefore please me more,  
than women to abandon,  
For if that I should fall in love,  
or join with such a wanton:  
Shéeed break my very heartstrings sure,  
Or I must Vulcan's lot endure,  
And patiently abide the cure,  

or else be helped by nothing.    

Take you heed then unmarried Lads,  
before you grow a lover,  
And ere too soon you choose a wife,  
with honest patience prove her:  
For nothing can again unwed,  
Nor cure a Cuckold's aching head,  
Besides once lost a Maidenhead,  

can be recalled by nothing.     

The second part,  
To the same tune.  
 
 

IN heat of war nothing is safe,  
in peace nothing respected,  
But ill got wealth, which to procure,  
no vice at all's neglected:  
The son doth wish his father's end,  
That he may have his wealth to spend,  
But let such Lads their manners mend,  

or all will come to nothing.    

Nothing is safe by Sea or Land,  
nor always free from danger,  
Which is committed to the trust,  
of either friend or stranger.  
For nothing in the world remains  
But for their private ends or gains,  
they'll have't although they break their brains  

or bring themselves to nothing.    

Nothing regarded more than gold,  
but virtue's quite decayed,  
For gold the Usurer sells his soul,  
which must at last be paid,  
When nothing from the grave can call  
Such miser's who their souls enthral,  
To gripe and hoard the Devil and all,  
but better they had nothing.   

Nothing can from the sight of God,  
conceal the faults of any,  
For his clear eye can search into,  
the smallest chink or cranny.  
He can within thy heart espy,  
The secretest sins which there do lie,  
But if you to repentance high,  

they shall appear as nothing.    

Nothing therefore hereafter seek  
but virtue, vice detesting,  
With purest robs of sanctity,  
your humble soul investing:  
And seek you after no such thing,  
Which may your soul to sorrow bring,  
Or while thou liv'st thy conscience sting,  

or esle desire nothing.    

For though but little thou art worth,  
yet nothing dost desire,  
Nor covetest thy neighbour's goods,  
nor 'bove thyself aspire.  
But restest honestly content,  
With that poor little God hath sent,  
Thou mayst disperse in merriment,  

and say thou wants for nothing.    

When earthworms spend their days in care,  
and ne'er can rest in quiet.  
Nor with the fear to lose their gold,  
have time to sleep or diet:  
But with a sad and pensive mind  
Still studying how the poor to grind,  
Until at last with sorrow pined,  

themselves are turned to nothing.    

And thus you now have heard the praise,  
of nothing, worth a penny:  
Which as I stand to sing hear now,  
I hope will yield me many.  
But if that price be held to dear,  
Or any dislike this counsel here,  
He may departed with a flea in's ear,  

for I will give him nothing.      

Printed at London for H. Gosson, dwelling upon London-Bridge near the Gate.