Ecclesiastes, Chapter 6

This, as a Common Misery, have I
With sorrow seene beneath the ambient Sky:
God Riches and Renowne to men imparts;
Even all they wish: and yet their narrow hearts
Cannot so great a fluency receive;
But their fruition to a Stranger leave.
What falser vanitie, or worse disease,
Could ever on the life of Mortals seaze?
Though he a hundred Children should beget,
Though many yeares should make his Age compleat;
Yet if he to himselfe his owne deny,
Then want a Grave, and violently dye:
Better were an abortive, borne in vaine,
That in obscuritie departs againe,
Enveloped with shrouds of endlesse Night;
Who never saw the Sunne display his Light,
Nor Good or Evill knew: he is more blest;
And soone descends to his perpetuall Rest.
Though th'other twenty Ages have surviv'd;
His Misery is but the longer Liv'd.
Yet both must to that fatall Mansion goe,
Where they to none are knowne, nor any know.
All that Man Labours for is but to Eate:
Yet is his soule not satisfi'd with Meate.
What therefore hath the wise more then the foole?
What wants the poore that can his Passions rule?
Farre better is a cleare and pleas'd aspect;
Then meagre lookes, which vast desires detect;
Such as can never satisfaction find:
Yet this is vanitie, and griefe of Mind.
For be he what he will, he must be Man;
A Name repleat with Misery: nor can
But desperately with such a Power contend,
On whom himselfe, and all the world depend.
As Riches, so our cares and feares increase:
O discontented Man, where is thy peace!
Who knowes what's good for thee in these thy Dayes
Of Vanitie. A Shadow so decayes.
Or can informe thy Soule what will befall,
When thou art lost, in greedy Funerall?