The Argvment.
That hee's content with his small rent;
When richer still doe crave,
And for more look by hook or crook
Though one foot in the grave.

No Ivory feeling, nor roofe adorned
With light-out-streaming gold, in my house shineth:
No beames from Hymet press pillars formed
Where the sky-touching hill Affrick confineth.
No wealth by ill meanes doe I win,
Nor for mee clyents purple spin.
But of trust and wit some store have I:
To me but poor, come men rais'd high by fortune:
More of the Gods themselves ne'r crave I,
Nor greater things of my great friend importune:
I wish not for more land or rent.
Sabine alone yeelds me content.
One day another day expelleth,
New-moons soon die: Thou marble-trimmers hyrest
Ready to goe where Pluto dwelleth;
And, building, vainely to long life aspirest.
From Neptune thou the shore dost steale away,
Incroaching on the angry Sea.
What should I tell, how 'gainst all order
Thy neighbours land-marks alwaies thou removest,
And from thy tenants that upon thee border,
Ground pilfers: Thou from house and home out-shovest
Both man and wife, that wailing beare
Their houshold gods and children deare.
Yet hast thou (rich Lord) no assurance
So great of any house where thou remained,
As that thou shalt be kept in durance
Of all-devouring hell, and there restrained.
What wilt thou? None the grave can shun:
It takes the King, and the Kings sonne.
Nor was hells Catch-pole with gold bribed
Wily Prometheus backward to bring againe:
He boasting Tantalus derided,
And his proud of-spring though they cry'd out amaine.
He easeth men cast downe with woe,
Whether they call on him or no.