It talks of small things,
But it sets up all things;
This masters money, though money
Masters all things.

It is not season
To talk of reason,
Nor call it loyalty, when the sword
Will have it treason.

It conquers the crown, too,
The grave and the gown, too,
First it sets up a presbyter, and
Then it pulls him down too.

This subtle disaster
Turns bonnet to beaver;
Down goes a bishop, sirs, and up
Starts a weaver.

This makes a layman
To preach and to pray, man;
And makes a lord of him that
Was but a drayman.

Far from the gulpit
Of Saxby's pulpit,
This brought an Hebrew ironmonger
To the pulpit.