Possessions.

All has been plunder'd from me but my wit:
Fortune herself can lay no claim to it.

Sorrows our portion are: ere hence we go,
Crosses we must have; or, hereafter woe.

I am of all bereft,
Save but some few beans left,
Whereof, at last, to make
For me and mine a cake,
Which eaten, they and I
Will say our grace, and die.

If kings and kingdoms once distracted be,
The sword of war must try the sovereignty

Some parts may perish, die thou canst not all:
The most of thee shall 'scape the funeral.

If that my fate has now fulfill'd my year,
And so soon stopt my longer living here;
What was't, ye gods, a dying man to save,
But while he met with his paternal grave!
Though while we living 'bout the world do roam,
We love to rest in peaceful urns at home,
Where we may snug, and close together lie
By the dead bones of our dear ancestry.