The Maner of the World Now a Dayes

So many poynted capsLased 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 polyciesIn townes and cytyesFor kepinge of blinde hostryesSawe 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 sytteWith 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 wyvesAnd 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 clothingWith 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 childAnd wylfully begylde,And so many places untilde,Sawe I never.

So many women blamedAnd rightuously defaimed,And so lytle ashamed,Sawe I never:Widowes so sone wedAfter their husbandes be deade,Having such hast to bed,Sawe I never.

So much strivingeFor 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 useThe truth to refuse,Suche falshead to excuse,Sawe I never:Executers havinge the ware,Taking so littel careHowe the soule doth fare,Sawe I never.

Amonge them that are richeNo frendshyp is to kepe tuche,And such fayre glosing specheSawe I never:So many poreIn 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 sellersIn 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 vacaboundeThrough 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 wayesAll England decayes,For more envy and lyersSawe I never.

So new facioned jackesWith 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 decaySawe I never:Whither is the welth of England gon?The spiritual saith they have none,And so many wrongfully undoneSaw I never.

It is great pitie that every daySo many brybors go by the way,And so many extorcioners in eche cuntreySawe 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!

AmendmentWere 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.

The Maner of the World now a dayes] Was Imprinted at Londonin Flete Strete at the signe of the Rose Garland by W. Copland, n. d.This piece (of the original impression of which I have not been able toprocure a sight) is now given from Old Ballads, 1840, edited by J. P.Collier, Esq., for the Percy Society.