To prink me up, and make me higher placed, <br />All came too late that tarried any time; <br />Piles of provision pleased not my taste, <br />They made my heels too heavy for to climb. <br />Methought it best that boughs of boistrous oak <br />Should first be shread to make my feathers gay, <br />Till at the last a deadly dinting stroke <br />Brought down the bulk with edgetools of decay. <br />Of every farm I then let fly a leaf <br />To feed the purse that paid for peevishnesss, <br />Till rent and all were fallen in such disease, <br />As scarce could serve to maintain cleanliness; <br />They bought the body, fine, farm, leaf, and land; <br />All were too little for the merchant's hand.<br /><br />George Gascoigne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-iv-10/
