LAWYER

A wresting power that makes a nose of wax, Of grounded law, a damde and subtle drift, In all estates to climb by others lose, And eager thrift of wealth, forgetting truth, Might I ascend unto the highest states, And by dissent discover every crime, My friends I should lament, and you would grieve To see the hapless ruins of this Realm. Good Lord, that their Divines should see so far In others faults, without amending theirs? Sir, sir, the general defaults in state, (If you would read before you did correct) Are by a hidden working from above, By their successive changes still remained, Were not the law by contraries maintainde, How could the truth from falsehood be discernde? Did we not taste the bitterness of war? How could we know the sweet effects of peace? Did we not feel the nipping winter frosts, How should we know the sweetness of the spring? Should all things still remain in one estate, Should not in greatest arts some scars be found, Were all upright and changed, what world were this? A Chaos, made of quiet, yet no world, Because the parts there of did still accord, This matter craves a variance not a speech, But sir Divine to you, look on your maims, Divisions, sects, your summonies and bribes: Your cloaking with the great, for fear to fallen, You shall perceive you are the cause of all. Did each man know there were a storm at hand, Who would not cloth him well, to shun the wet? Did Prince and Peer, the Lawyer and the least, Know what were sin, without a partial gloze, We needs no long discovery then of crimes, For each would mend, advised by holy men: Thus but slightly shadow out your sins, But if they were depainted out for life, Alas we both had wounds enough to heal. Good Merchant lay your fingers on your mouth, Be not a blab, for fear you bite your self, What should I term your state, but even the way To every ruin in this Commonweal, Your bring us in the means of all excess, You rate it and retalde it as you please, You swear, forswear, and all to compass wealth, Your money is your God, your hoard your heaven, You are the ground work of contention: First heedless youth, by you is overreached, We are corrupted by your many crowns: The Gentlemen whose titles you have bought, Lose all their father's toil within a day, While Hob your son, and Sib your nutbrown child, Are Gentle folks, and Gentles are beguiled: This makes so many Noble maids to stray, And take sinister courses in the state. My friends, what think you of this present state Were ever seen such changes in a time? The manners and the fashions of this age, Are Like the Ermine skin so full of spots, As soon may the More be washed white, Then these corruptions bannisht from this Realm.