The Old Goldsmith

Than any Master the maitrise can blaze,
E'en Ruyz, Arphe, Ximeniz, Becerrill,
All gems I've deftlier set, and with more skill
Have wrought the frieze and handle of the vase.

In silver, on the enamel's irised glaze,
I've carved and painted, to my soul's worst ill,
Shame, not the Rood, and saint upon the grill,
But Bacchus drunk or Danae's amaze.

The rapier's iron I've damaskeened full well,
And, for vain boastings of these works of hell,
Adventured the eternal part of me;

And now, as fast my years toward evening fly,
O would, as did Fray Juan de Segovie,
While chasing gold of monstrance I might die.