Book II, Metrum II (Vaughan)

If with an open, bounteous hand
--Wholly left at man's command--
Fortune should in one rich flow
As many heaps on him bestow
Of massy gold, as there be sands
Toss'd by the waves and winds rude bands,
Or bright stars in a winter night
Decking their silent orbs with light;
Yet would his lust know no restraints,
Nor cease to weep in sad complaints.
Though Heaven should his vows regard,
And in a prodigal reward
Return him all he could implore,
Adding new honours to his store,
Yet all were nothing. Goods in sight
Are scorn'd, and lust in greedy flight
Lays out for more; what measure then
Can tame these wild desires of men?
Since all we give both last and first
Doth but inflame, and feed their thirst.
For how can he be rich, who 'midst his store
Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor.