Sors

A WOFVLL wretch, that languisht in dispaire,
Withouten frendes, and meanes of living here,
A halter tooke, to make an end of care,
The while beneath hid treasure doth appeare:
Which to his lot assign'd, by fortunes doome,
He takes, and leaues his halter in the roome.

The owner after missing of his pelfe,
For deadly greife, his heapes and hopes were gon,
The others halter takes, and hanges himselfe:
Fortune thus dallies ever, and anon
O're-swaieng all, with Scepter in her fist,
And bandieth vs, like balls which way she list.