No More Learning

Low is my porch, as is my fate,
Both void of state;
And yet the           of my door
Is worn by th' poor,
Who thither come, and freely get
Good words or meat;
Like as my parlour, so my hall
And kitchen's small;
A little buttery, and therein
A little bin
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unclipt, unflead.