The Covetous Still Captives.

Why should we covet much, whenas we know
W'ave more to bear our charge than way to go?

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.

Who with a little cannot be content,
Endures an everlasting punishment.

Those possessions short-liv'd are,
Into the which we come by war.

Live with a thrifty, not a needy fate;
Small shots paid often waste a vast estate.

Goes the world now, it will with thee go hard:
The fattest hogs we grease the more with lard.
To him that has, there shall be added more;
Who is penurious, he shall still be poor.