Rich fooles there there be, whose base and filthie hart,
Lyes hatching still the goods wherein they flow:
And damning their owne selves to Tantal’s smart,
Welth breeding want, more rich, more wretched grow.
Yet to those fooles, heaven doth such wit impart,
As what their hands doe hold, their heads doe know.
And knowing love, and loving lay apart,
As scattered things, farre from all dangers show.
But that rich foole, who by blind Fortunes lot,
The richest gem of love and life enjoyes,
And can with foule abuse such beauties blot:
Let him deprived of sweet, but unfelt joyes
Exilde for aye, from those high treasures which
He knowes not grow, in onely follie rich.