The Manner of the World Nowadays

So many poynted caps

Lased with double flaps,

And so gay felted hats,

Sawe I never:

So many good lessons,

So many good sermons,

And so few devocions,

Sawe I never.

So many gardes worne,

Jagged and al to-torne,

And so many falsely forsworne,

Sawe I never:

So few good polycies

In townes and cytyes

For kepinge of blinde hostryes

Sawe I never.

So many good warkes,

So few wel lerned clarkes,

And so few that goodnes markes,

Sawe I never:

Such pranked cotes and sleves,

So few yonge men that preves,

And such encrease of theves,

Sawe I never.

So many garded hose,

Such cornede shoes,

And so many envious foes,

Sawe I never:

So many questes sytte

With men of smale wit,

And so many falsely quitte,

Sawe I never.

So many gay swordes,

So many altered wordes,

And so few covered bordes,

Sawe I never:

So many empti purses,

So few good horses,

And so many curses,

Sawe I never.

Such bosters and braggers,

So newe fashyoned daggers,

And so many beggers,

Sawe I never:

So many propre knyves,

So well apparrelled wyves

And so yll of theyr lyves,

Saw I never.

So many cockolde makers,

So many crakers,

And so many peace breakers,

Saw I never:

So much vayne clothing

With cultyng and jagging,

And so much bragginge,

Saw I never.

So many newes and knackes,

So many naughty packes,

And so many that mony lackes,

Saw I never:

So many maidens with child

And wylfully begylde,

And so many places untilde,

Sawe I never.

So many women blamed

And rightuously defaimed,

And so lytle ashamed,

Sawe I never:

Widowes so sone wed

After their husbandes be deade,

Having such hast to bed,

Sawe I never.

So much strivinge

For goodes and for wivinge,

And so lytle thryvynge,

Sawe I never:

So many capacities,

Offices and pluralites,

And chaunging of dignities,

Sawe I never.

So many lawes to use

The truth to refuse,

Suche falshead to excuse,

Sawe I never:

Executers havinge the ware,

Taking so littel care

Howe the soule doth fare,

Sawe I never.

Amonge them that are riche

No frendshyp is to kepe tuche,

And such fayre glosing speche

Sawe I never:

So many pore

In every bordoure,

And so small soccoure,

Saw I never.

So proude and so gaye,

So riche in araye,

And so skant of money,

Saw I never:

So many bowyers,

So many fletchers,

And so few good archers,

Saw I never.

So many chepers,

So fewe biers,

And so many borowers,

Sawe I never:

So many alle sellers

In baudy holes and sellers,

Of yonge folkes yll counsellers,

Sawe I never.

So many pinkers,

So many thinkers,

And so many good ale drinkers,

Sawe I never:

So many wronges,

So few mery songes,

And so many yll tonges,

Sawe I never.

So many a vacabounde

Through al this londe,

And so many in pryson bonde,

I sawe never:

So many citacions,

So fewe oblacions,

And so many newe facions,

Sawe I never.

So many fleyng tales,

Pickers of purses and males,

And so many sales,

Saw I never:

So much preachinge,

Speaking fayre and teaching,

And so ill belevinge,

Saw I never.

So much wrath and envy,

Covetous and glottony,

And so litle charitie,

Sawe I never:

So many carders,

Revelers and dicers,

And so many yl ticers,

Sawe I never.

So many lollers,

So few true tollers,

So many baudes and pollers,

Sawe I never:

Such treachery,

Simony and usury,

Poverty and lechery,

Saw I never.

So many avayles,

So many geales,

And so many fals baylies,

Sawe I never:

By fals and subtyll wayes

All England decayes,

For more envy and lyers

Sawe I never.

So new facioned jackes

With brode flappes in the neckes,

And so gay new partlettes,

Sawe I never:

So many slutteshe cookes,

So new facioned tucking hookes,

And so few biers of bookes,

Saw I never.

Sometime we song of myrth and play,

But now our joy is gone away,

For so many fal in decay

Sawe I never:

Whither is the welth of England gon?

The spiritual saith they have none,

And so many wrongfully undone

Saw I never.

It is great pitie that every day

So many brybors go by the way,

And so many extorcioners in eche cuntrey

Sawe I never.

To thé, Lord, I make my mone,

For thou maist healpe us everichone:

Alas, the people is so wo begone,

Worse was it never!

Amendment

Were convenient,

But it may not be;

We have exiled veritie.

God is neither dead nor sicke;

He may amend al yet,

And trowe ye so in dede,

As ye beleve ye shal have mede.

After better I hope ever,

For worse was it never.