On a covetous rich Man

If wealth can hardly pass a needle's eye,
Men may with joy their poverty supply,
With hopes to pass, who have no weighty packs
Of such rich glitt'ring bundles at their backs,
As over-load their Souls with houshold-stuff,
When little food and raiment is enough
To pass them through this World: Such golden streams
As brightest shine, prove but fantastick dreams,
Which mock their sleep with some false pleasing sight
Of shadows, that do vanish with the night.
Tho' this unto poor me may seem most true,
'Twill find but little credit with rich you:
To part with any parcel of your store,
To cloth the naked, and to feed the poor;
Tho' Christ declares 'tis him whom we do feed,
When we relieve his Children in their need;
And may with justice rather curse than bless
Such wicked men as do his poor oppress.