A poore Ploughman to a Gentleman, for whome he had taken a little paines

YOur Culter cuts the soyle that earst was sowne
Your Haruest was forereaped long agoe,
Your Sickle sheares the Medowe yt was mowne,
Ere you the toyle of Tilmans trade did knowe:
Good fayth you are beholding to the man
That so for you your husbandrie began.
Hee craues of you no Siluer for his Séede,
Ne doth demaunde a penny for his Graine,
But if you stande at any time in néede,
(Good Maister) be as bolde with him againe.
You can not doe a greater pleasure than
To choose you such a one to be your man.