Kingdomes are but cares;State ys devoyd of staie;Ryches are redy snares,And hastene to decaie.
Plesure ys a pryvie pryckeWich vyce doth styll provoke;Pompe, unprompt; and fame, a flame;Powre, a smouldryng smoke.
Who meenethe to remoofe the rockeOwte of the slymie mudde,Shall myre hymselfe, and hardlie scapeThe swellynge of the flodde.
