Next I will tell you of a poore mans tricke,

Which he did practise with a polliticke,

This poore man had a Cow twas all his stocke,

Which on the Commons fed: where Catell flocke,

The other had a steere a wanton Beast,

Which he did turne to feede amongst the rest.

Which in processe although I know not how,

The rich mans Oxe did gore the poore mans Cow.

The poore man heereat vexed waxed sad,

For it is all the living that he had,

And he must loose his living for a song,

Alas he knew not how to right his wrong.

He knew his enemie had pointes of law,

To save his purse, fill his devouring mawe,

Yet thought the poore man how so it betide,

Ile make him give right sentence on my side.

Without delay unto the Man he goes,

And unto him this fayned tale doth gloze,

(Quoth he) my Cow which with your Oxe did feede,

Hath kild your Oxe and I make knowne the deede.

Why (quoth my Politique) thou shouldst have helpt it rather,

Thou shalt pay for him if thow wert my father.