Faulc.
Mad world, mad Kings, mad composition!
John, to stop Arthur's Title in the whole,
Hath willingly departed with a part:
And France, whose armour Conscience buckled on,
Whom Zeal and Charity brought to the field,
As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear
With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,
That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith,
That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,
Of Kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,
Who having no external thing to lose
But the word Maid, cheats the poor maid of that;

That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling Commodity,—
Commodity, the biass of the world,
&wlquo;The world, which of itself is poised well,
&wlquo;Made to run even, upon even ground;
&wlquo;Till this advantage, this vile-drawing biass,
&wlquo;This sway of motion, this Commodity,
&wlquo;Makes it take head from all indifferency,
&wlquo;From all direction, purpose, course, intent.&wrquo;
And this same biass, this Commodity,
This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
Clapt on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,
From a resolv'd and honourable war,
To a most base and vile-concluded peace.—
And why rail I on this Commodity?
But for because he hath not wooed me yet:
Not that I have the power to clutch my hand,
When his fair angels would salute my palm;
But that my hand, as unattempted yet,
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
Well, while I am a beggar, I will rail;
And say, there is no sin but to be rich:
And being rich, my virtue then shall be,
To say, there is no vice, but beggary.
Since Kings break faith upon commodity,
Gain, be my lord; for I will worship thee! [Exit.

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