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Poem by George Gascoigne
Sonnet 5. All were too little for the merchant's hand
All were too little for the merchant's hand, And yet my bravery bigger than his book; But when this hot account was coldly scanned, I thought high time about me for to look. With heavenly cheer I cast my head aback To see the fountain of my furious race, Compared my loss, my living, and my lack In equal balance with my jolly grace, And saw expenses grating on the ground Like lumps of lead to press my purse full oft, When light reward and recompense were found, Fleeting like feathers in the wind aloft. These thus compared, I left the Court at large, For why the gains doth seldom quit the charge.
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