My mother drove him forth, forsooth,
Most foully, for that he the truth12160
Upheld, and showed, all bald and bare,
Hypocrisy, with subtle care
Within his latest book, and said,
’Twere well that I no longer sped
My life by begging, but should set
My hands to labour, would I get
My livelihood.
Labour hateful to some
He surely had
Deemed me for either drunk or mad,
For labour pleases me no whit,
Nor have I any need for it.
I find a more congenial way
Of life, to patter beads and pray,
And all my ribaldry to hide
Beneath my mother’s mantle wide.
The God of Love.
Thou devil! dar’st thou then display
Thy vileness thus in light of day?
False-Seeming.
What mean you ?
Love.
Scoundrel, hast thou got
No fear of God?
False-Seeming.
Most surely not.
No man to greatness can attain
In these days if he count not vain12180
