To my proud, rich Censurer

You say true, I a Beggar am, and poor,
But have had more than you have, heretofore;
Honesty and Poverty were no Crimes
Accounted, 'mongst wise Men in former times.
And if we now consider right, there's none
But Beggars from the street-Cripple to the Throne,
The ragged poor beg alms of all they see
Of my dependers, and they beg of me;
And I as humbly beg the Prince I serve,
For such grants, as I think I do deserve;
My Prince that in a higher station stands,
Begs of the Parliament, whom he commands;
And they beg their Elections, and the Purse
Of all the People, which is much the worse;
And all the Nation beg for Grace from God,
For Peace and Plenty, as their livelihood.
So that the whole World is in some degree,
Liable to some kind of Beggary.
If thy loose tongue do want an argument
To rail, My want is a just punishment
For my past luxuries, which I confess
Were daily acted to a great excess.
And unto which thou may'st as justly add,
My many sins, while I was blindly mad.
Yet after all, in Charity might tell
By what well known great accidents I fell,
To want; and yet if justice I obtain,
I shall my former Lands and State regain.
Till then, let not thy heart my want despise;
For I am happier in this disguise,
Than all thy wealth and gaiest robes make thee,
Which I have worn, with more variety,
Than thy thin Fortune will thy pride allow,
Of which thou so much prat'st, and boastest now.
But if injustice does gainst me prevail,
My faith in God's great Mercy, will not fail.
To give me Paradise, instead of Gold,
With present joys too glorious to be told.
I scorn thy Wealth, thy Titles, and thy Wit,
And only unto God's Decrees submit,
And all thy malice do forgive; &c.