We heapeth up richest treasure great store
Which we get by griping and grinding the poor.
And this is a way for to fill up our purse
Although we do get it with many a curse.
And first for the combers, we will bring them down,
From eight groats a score until half a crown;
If at all they murmer and say ‘tis too small
We bid them choose whether they will work at all.
We’ll make them believe that trading is bad
We care not a pin, though they are n’er so sad.
We’ll make the poor weavers work at a low rate,
We’ll find fault where there is none, and so we will bate;
If trading grows dead, we will presently show it,
But if it grows good, they shall never know it;
We’ll tell them that cloth beyond sea will not go,
We care not whether we keep clothing or no.
Then next for the spinners we shall ensue;
We’ll make them spin three pounds instead of two;
When they bring home their work unto us, they complain
And say that their wages will not them maintain;
But that if an ounce of weight they do lack,
Then for to bate threepence we will not be slack.
And thus, we do gain our wealth and estate
By many poor men that work early and late;
If it were not for those that labour so hard,
We might go and hang ourselves without regard;
The combers, the weavers, the tuckers also,
With the spinners that work for wages full low,
By these people’s labour we fill up our purse,
Although we do get it with many a curse.
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