Classic Poem

If well thou view'st us with no squinted eye,
No partiall judgement, thou wilt quickly rate
Thy wealth no richer then my povertie;
My want no poorer then thy rich estate:
Our ends and births alike; in this, as I;
Poore thou wert born, and poore again shalt die.

My little fills my little-wishing minde;
Thou having more then much, yet seekest more:
Who seeks, still wishes what he seeks, to finde;
Who wishes, wants; and who so wants, is poore:
Then this must follow of necessitie;
Poore are thy riches, rich my povertie.

Though still thou gett'st, yet is thy want not spent,
But as thy wealth, so growes thy wealthy itch:
But with my little I have much content;
Content hath all; and who hath all, is rich:
Then this in reason thou must needs confesse,
If I have little, yet that thou hast lesse.

What ever man possesses, God hath lent,
And to his audit liable is ever,
To reckon, how, and where, and when he spent:
Then this thou bragg'st, thou art a great receiver:
Little my debt, when little is my store:
The more thou hast, thy debt still growes the more.

But seeing God himself descended down
T' enrich the poore by his rich povertie;
His meat, his house, his grave, were not his own,
Yet all is his from all eternitie:
Let me be like my Head, whom I adore:
Be thou great, wealthie, I still base and poore.