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The sundry dangers of his will’s obtaining,

Yet ever to obtain his will resolving,

Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining.

Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining,

And when great treasure is the meed proposed,

Though death be adjunct, there’s no death supposed.

Those that much covet are with gain so fond

That what they have not, that which they possess,

They scatter and unloose it from their bond,

And so by hoping more they have but less,

Or, gaining more, the profit of excess

Is but to surfeit and such griefs sustain

That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.

The aim of all is but to nurse the life

With honour, wealth, and ease in waning age,

And in this aim there is such thwarting strife

That one for all, or all for one, we gage,

As life for honour in fell battle’s rage,

Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost

The death of all, and all together lost.

So that, in vent’ring ill, we leave to be

The things we are for that which we expect,

And this ambitious foul infirmity

In having much, torments us with defect

Of that we have; so then we do neglect

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