Heare, Ocnus still the roape doth turne and winde,
Which he did make, of russhes and of grasse:
And when with toile, his worke was to his minde
He rol'de it up, and lefte it to the asse:
Whoe quickelie spoil'de, that longe with paine was sponne,
Which being kept, it might some good have donne.
This Ocnus shewes, a man that workes and toiles,
The Asse declares, a wicked wastfull wife:
Whoe if shee maie, shee quicklie spendes and spoiles
That he with care, was getting all his life,
And likewise those, that lewdely doo bestowe
Suche thinges, as shoulde unto good uses goe.