AND truly yesterday I did suspect as much: away Foule misgotten Elf, Thou cheat'st thy silly self In thinking I had any drift To favor thee by praising Thrift. 2 Hence odious Avarice, Thou mad & self-revenging Vice, Who dost no toyl refuse For that thou dar'st not use. Thrift onely gathers, Thou dost scrape, She to injoy, Thou but to keep. 3 Thou Jayler art, but She The Steward of her gold: with thee It rusts, with her it shines: Nor do its deepest Mines Smother & lock it up so fast As the vast gulph of thy dark chest. 4 For that dark chest of thine No pioner must hope to mine, Since thy Necessitie Cannot sufficient be To digg thy treasure thence; so deep Thou, to thy loss, thy gains dost keep. 5 Less doth the Thunders crack Than news of petty Charges, wake Thy wretched fears; & though All thy religion's how The best of money to possess, Thy Money never current is. 6 Some Beast or other is The embleme of each other Vice: But never Brute was yet So brutish as to get The world a copie of foule Thee: Midst Monsters, thou must Monster be. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 55. ST. VALENTINE'S DAY by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE DAYS GONE BY by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE EARLY PRIMROSE by HENRY KIRKE WHITE THE BIRDS: THE BIRDS' LIFE by ARISTOPHANES TASTE, AN EPISTLE TO A YOUNG CRITIC by JOHN ARMSTRONG TWELVE SONNETS: 1. THY SWEETNESS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |