188. What Profiteth this World's Labour?
Long wilbe, water in a welle to keche,
A vessell made of yerdis that wil nat holde.
No wounder is it, though it be leche;
To fille another, I note how it shulde.
Right so thus this worldis labour wolde
Man to gadre goode and grete Riches,
But ware of th'ende to hym be no distresse.
Who-so that in suche a vessel these tranes shulde,
Rest he ne may, day nother nyght,
Ete nor drynk whan that they wolde,
Therfor in labour thus they do her myght.
Right so this worlde wylle that euery maner wight
Goode to gete in trowth from oure to oure,
That in tyme of nede hem to help and socoure.
Goode god! what doth this occupacioune?
We trow thus to level the see—
It may nat be by none ymagynacoune!
But the world wil it, as ye may se,
That in yowth euery man laboryous to be
To gadre Riches, hym to supporte and vpholde
In age, whan he wexith fieble and holde.
