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Whilst as fickle Fortune finilde,
Thou and I, were both beguild,
Euery one that flatters thee,
Is no friend in materie:
Words are eafie, like the wind,
Faithfull friends are hard to find:
Euery man will be thy friend,
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend:
But if store of Crownes be feant,
No man will supply thy want
If that one be prodigall,
Bountfull they will him eall:
And with such-like flattering,
Pitty but he were a King.
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