Cumberworld

A cumber-world, yet in the world am left, / A fruitles plot, with brambles ouergrowne, / Miſliued man of my vvorlds ioy bereft, / Hart-breaking cares the ofspring of my mone.

His pouch was now all void and empty, his future years were like to be sour, thoughty, and woe-begone, and himself a cumberworld, unsicker of his scarce and slender livelihood in lickpenny London, forced to beg, steal, or starve, and gaping after honest death.