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