" So did he good to none, to manie ill, So did he all the kingdome rob and pill, [Pill, plunder.]

Up to this wood they took: search near, my friends, I am this morn robbed of three hundred pound.

But pinching fist, that spareth all, Of due relief the needy robs: Nought can be caught, where nought doth fall, There comes no good of greedy cobs.