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THESAURO-PHULAKION[Greek]: or, A treasury of divine raptures

Consisting of Serious Observations, Pious Ejaculations, Select Epigrams. Alphabetically rank'd and fil'd by a Private Chaplain to the Illustrious and Renowned Lady Urania The Divine and Heavenly Muse. The first part [by Nicholas Billingsley]

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379. On Covetousness.
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379. On Covetousness.

Covetise of all evils is the root,
Hence discontent and other mischiefs sprout;
Theft, Treason, Murder, wilful Perjury,
Fraud, Brib'ry, Whoredom, foul Idolatry.
Horrid oppression, quarrelsome debates,
And the subversion of mighty States.
O what a cursed sin base avarice is,
In that it is the parent of all vices.
Lord, what a monster 'tis! who would not fly it?
Mans body it deprives of restful quiet,
Of peace his conscience, his soul of grace,
And leaves him in a miserable case.
Since then th'effects of coveting is such,
Better it were to want, than have too much.
How sad is it to have a Sea of sin,
And not a drop of mercy enter in
The heart! the reason why the word avails
No more, is avarice, the seed oft falls
Among rough thorns; the sprouting thorns (we read)
Choaked the good disseminated seed
Thousands of Sermons buried lye (alas!)
In earthly hearts, hearts that this world embrace.

201

Covetize always is sparing in giving,
But how excessive is it in receiving!
Gold guides the Globe of earth, and covetize
Runs round about the world; they riches prize,
Who careful are to get, desirous to
Keep riches, and are loth to let them goe:
Gain is indifferent in it self still,
The use is good, but the abuse is ill,
The care is worse, the conquest vile and base,
The gain of Gold make many men (alas!)
To lose their Souls, by being over-saving,
Thousands are lost, yet there's no end of having.
What men get, like the Polypus they hold,
Some study the black Art for yellow Gold;
Desire of gain scarce ever yet did good,
This hath made some swim to the crown in blood,
What numbers hath it caus'd Physitians to
Destroy? what numbers Lawyers to undo:
It hath not only multitudes undone,
But it is beneficial to none.
Covetous men while they themselves enrich,
Debase themselves, making themselves a pitch
Low'r than their Angels, as God made them lower
Then his bright Angels, both in will & power,
He is so miserably sordid, that
So his Coffers be fill'd, and his estate
May thrive, he is content to let his name
Lye dead and buried, he regards not fame.

202

The gripling Miser for a fool may go,
He thinks Gods treasury too empty to
Content him, he Gods glory never sees,
And will not trust him on bare promises,
As God (which never will leave his) he leaves
So to the world (which cannot help) he cleaves,
Better then his own soul, the rich fool loves
His Gold, and within his own circle moves,
He wrinckles and contracts (by saving charges)
His body, by this means his purse enlarges:
He to himself will scarce a meal afford,
But is a constant ghost at Satans board.
No marvail he hear not mens craving wants,
When he himself is deaf to the complaints
Of his own belly, to which he is ever
Endebted, and is like to pay it never:
He never paid his belly nor his back,
A quarter of their dues, he loves no Sack,
Nor Cates, the smallest beer, the coursest meat,
Is good enough for him to drink or eat:
Prides vanity he doth so much detest,
Which doth esteem the dearest things the best,
That he thinks nothing sweet but what is cheap;
Gold is the thing he dreams on in his sleep,
Which is but little, Gold and Silver are
His Idol, which the heathens Idols were:
He hath the Silver Dropsie, he implores
More still, Gold is the goddess he adores,

203

He thinks all flesh that comes within his Nets,
Nor cares he how he gets; but what he gets:
He is no niggard of his labour, or
A time-neglector, sloth he doth abhor,
It's ever term with him, his business
Admits of no vacation, nothing less
Than Holy-dayes he loves, the greater gain,
Is still attended with the greater pain,
He often sayes, but yet he is not pleas'd,
As he is never fill'd, so never eas'd.
He findeth no Soul-satisfaction;
And is when all is done, a man undone:
Riches have many wretches drown'd in this
World, Sea, and kept them from the shore of bliss:
Riches are thievish, stealing unawares
The heart, and Satans soul entrapping snares.
The Miser digs to hell for wealth, so that
The Devil is his next neighbour: O hard fate!
On earth himself he heavens, and himself
Of bliss he couzens, for a little pelf,
Rest from his own bones, he himself hath stole,
Peace from his conscience, grace from his soul,
And is not he a Thief? nothing can fill
Th'unfathom'd gulf of his insatiat will.
This Horse-leech cries, give, give, this Cormorant
The more he doth desire, the more doth want,
The dunghil Wretch, troubled with Midas Itch,
Becomes a beggar by becoming rich;

204

Nay, worldly men more miserable are
Than Beggars, these want little, have less care,
They much, and till they dye no good do doe,
Who is rich? he that covers nothing? who
Is poor? the covetous; he is not poor
Which enjoys little, but desireth more.
There's many have too much, scarce one but wishes
For more, the sea sufficeth all the fishes;
The Earth sufficeth all the beasts likewise,
But the whole world cannot one man suffice.
Wild Beasts are filled, and do spare the prey,
But Misers are insatiable, they
Like hell, say never 'tis enough, but having
Too much already, still for more are craving:
The miserable man himself unblesses,
By not injoying that which he possesses;
What benefit is there of Gold while 'tis
Embowell'd in the Mine? wealth worthless is
If it so hoarded up, and cloystred be
In Coffers, as the light it never see.
How well may the rich churl be likened to
A Christmas-box, chink he receives, but lo
He parts with none, till death this box uncase,
Then Gold and Silver tumbles out a pace:
Camels bear but one burden, rich men two,
Wealth, sin, and that in death he must forgoe
This in and after death, sticks fast t'his back,
And will be to him an eternal Rack.

205

Desire, distrust, fear, hope, and dispair are
His tort'ring furies, just, as if he were
In Phal'ris burning Bull, he that's a slave
To his own servant, shall bad usage have:
He that is once Christs servant, will not be
A slave to Mammon, the worlds deity.
It is observable, two things perplex
The whole world, Mine, and Thine, riches do vex,
For they are Thornes; riches do flee away,
For they have wings, nor can we with them stay:
To fly from avarice is to obtain
A Kingdom; godliness is the best gain:
He must be master of his wealth that is
Gods servant, O if Heaven that place of bliss,
Becomes our object, the earth will become
Our abject, and the issues of her womb.
The Miser fears not God, nor honors man,
He thinketh that Religion, which can
Make best for his advantage, is the best;
What brings him in no gain he doth detest:
He will Gehazi like, bare bribes away,
And will with Judas for a gift betray
His Lord and Master, and say with him too,
Why is this waste, when some good any do:
His chiefest good he judgeth riches still,
And poverty fears as the greatest ill;
Money is his creator, when wealths had
In great abundance, then he thinks he's made:

206

It's his Redeemer, when woes on him thrust,
He flies t'his money, that redeem him must:
It is his comforter, when he is sad,
He tells his money, and that makes him glad.
He with his golden harps expells away
The evil spirit, you may truly say,
When you see one who doth his Gold prefer
Before God, there goes an Idolater,
Care is the Vultur gnaws upon his heart,
And he damns his own self t'Ixions smart
On conscience tort'ring wheel; he's evermore
Like Tantalus, starved in the midst of store,
He'l go on errands to the Devil, so gaines
Send him, and well reward him for his pains:
His wretched mind bends to no point but this,
He who hath most of wealth, hath most of bliss.
As he is good to none, so is he worst
T'himself, he lives abhorr'd, and dies accurst.
Philosophers affirm that Mines of Gold,
Are always fruitless, and the Devils Freehold:
So are those minds that Gold admire do,
Barren, and haunted by the Devil too.