Foule is the face, whose beauty gold can race:
Worthless the wit that hath gold in her wonder:
Vnlearned lines puts gold in honours place:
Wicked the state that will to coine come vnder:
Base the conceit that seasoned is with gold:
And beggars rule that such a reason hold.
Earth giues the gold but Heauen giues greater grace,
Men study wealth, but Angels wisdomes state,
Labour seekes peace, loue hath an higher place:
Death makes the reckning, life is all my rate:
Thy hope is hell, my hope of heauen doth hold,
God giue me grace, let Diues die with gold.
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