SongIII

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Song

III

The Insatiableness of Avarice

Though the covetous grown wealthy

See his piles of gold rise high;

Though he gather store of treasure

That can never satisfy;

Though with pearls his gorget blazes,

Rarest that the ocean yields;

Though a hundred head of oxen

Travail in his ample fields;

Ne’er shall carking care forsake him

While he draws this vital breath,

And his riches go not with him,

When his eyes are closed in death.