Book III, 28: On our Saviour and his Vicar

Me thinks thy Vicar Gen'rall beares the Keyes,
And executes thy Place, with greater case.
And in one Iubile, enjoyes more mirth,
Then thou, my dying Lord, didst from thy Birth,
Alas: Thou hadst not, wherewithall to fill
Thy craving stomack: He has Cates at will:
Thy empty Costers had not to defray
Thy Tribute charge: To him Kings Tribute pay;
Foxes haue holes; Thou hadst not, whereupon
To rest thy wakefull head: He snorts in Downe:
In short, Thy life was nothing but the Story
Of Poverty; and his, of Princely Glory:
When tempting Sathan would have giv'n thee all
The wealth and glory of the World, to fall
And worship him; at thy refusall, Lord,
Thy Vicar tooke the Tempter at his word;
So came thy wants so great; so great his store;
The Vicar so-so rich; the Lord, so poore.