Of the flantyng worlde.

THis worlde is all a flant,
like Ship full vnder saile,
As swift to gather as the Ante,
and slowe to giue as Snaile:
The Ante in Sommer tyme,
prouides for Winters foode,
The Snaile as slowly doeth he clime, so doeth he little good.
The one learnes man to saue, the other slowly glides,
To bid men worke as tyme thei haue, to walke & watch their tides,
That lesson of the Snaill, is slowlie lookte vnto,
So that this sillie creepyng soule, full little good can doe.
And hourders vp of wealthe, are in the selfsame plite,
Yet doeth the Ante for deepe foresight, mans iudgement more delite.
But flantyng late came vp, the gise is somewhat newe,
The Rainboes collours doeth it beare, and yet it hath no hewe:
The glorie of the same, tenne thousande stains will take,
And scarce the wisest men doe knowe, of flantyng what to make.
He lants with others flowres, she brau's in boroude weedes,
But neuer none could reape good fruite, of sutche vain rotten seedes:
This flantyng squares it out, and keeps a cruell coile,
But in the ende this newe founde toye, doth bryng them all to spoile,
On braury it begonne, with beggrie shall it ende,
This bowe is shapte of sutche a wood, shall either breake or bende,
A flant a flant my boyes, but flante to farre farewell,
Make mutche of worlde, ye neither come in heauen nor in hell.
The saincts disdaine your pompe, the Deuills feare your pride,
Then purchace Purgatorie nowe, and there let flantyng bide:
So flounce and flant your fill good worlde should wearie waxe,
Of strange deuise that sturrs the state, to strife through newe founde knacks.