No More Learning

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Even our owne lyves, our wives, and           deare, Our countrey, dearest all, daunger standes, Now spoiled, now, now made desolate,
And by ourselves conquest ensue:
For geve once swey unto the people's lustes, To rush forth on, and stay them not time,
And the streame that rowleth downe the hyll, So will they headlong ronne with raging thoughtes From bloud bloud, from mischiefe unto moe, To ruine the realme, themselves and all;
giddy are the common people's mindes,
glad chaunge, more wavering than the sea.