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| Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, | 1 |
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| My sinful earth these rebel powers array, |
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| Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, |
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| Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? |
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| Why so large cost, having so short a lease, | 5 |
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| Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? |
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| Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, |
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| Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? |
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| Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, |
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| And let that pine to aggravate thy store; | 10 |
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| Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; |
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| Within be fed, without be rich no more: |
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 So shall thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, |
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| And Death once dead, there's no more dying then. |
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