 | Divine Fancies |  |
95. On Lvcro .
Lvcro , how poor thy Tyrant-wealth has made thee!How miserable poore! It has betrayd thee
To thy owne seeming selfe; And it is growne
As little, thine, or lesse then thou, thy owne:
Alas, poore Lucro, how thy fruitfull pawnes
Abuse thy Stomacke, that so often yawnes
For a good Morsell, whilst thy Saint does rome,
Like a Decoy, t'entice evill Angels home,
Whose more imperious presence must controule
And fright the peace of thy perplexed Soule!
Lucro, be slave no longer to thy Pelfe;
Subdue thy Gold, and make thy selfe, thy selfe:
But if thy Saint be growne too strong for thee,
Ile tell thee Lucro; Turne thy Saint to me.
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