To Man Without Money

No man such rare parts hath, that he can swim,
If favour or occasion help not him.

To bread and water none is poor;
And having these, what need of more?
Though much from out the cess be spent,
Nature with little is content.

Tell me, rich man, for what intent
Thou load'st with gold thy vestiment?
Whenas the poor cry out: To us
Belongs all gold superfluous.

Who with a little cannot be content,
Endures an everlasting punishment.

Love is maintain'd by wealth; when all is spent,
Adversity then breeds the discontent.

I do love I know not what,
Sometimes this and sometimes that;
All conditions I aim at.

But, as luckless, I have yet
Many shrewd disasters met
To gain her whom I would get.

Therefore now I'll love no more
As I've doted heretofore:
He who must be, shall be poor.