Woe unto those, that with the morning Sun Rise to drink wine, and sit till he have run 20 His weary course; not ceasing until night Have quench'd their understanding with the light: Whose raging thirst, like fire, will not be tam'd, The more they pour, the more they are inflam'd. Woe unto them that only mighty are To wage with wine; in which unhappy war They who the glory of the day have won, Must yield them foil'd and vanquish'd by the tun. Men that live thus, as if they liv'd in jest, Fooling their time with music and a feast; 30 That did exile all sounds from their soft ear But of the harp, must this sad discord hear Compos'd in threats. The feet which measures tread Shall in captivity be fettered: Famine shall scourge them for their vast excess; And Hell revenge their monstrous drunkenness; Which hath enlarg'd itself to swallow such, Whose throats ne'er knew enough, though still too much. Woe unto those that countenance a sin, Siding with vice, that it may credit win 40 By their unhallow'd vote: that do benight The truth with error, putting dark for light, And light for dark; that call an evil good, And would by vice have virtue understood: That with their frown can sour an honest cause, Or sweeten any bad by their applause. That justify the wicked for reward; And, void of moral goodness or regard, Plot with detraction to traduce the fame Of him whose merit hath enroll'd his name 50 Among the just. Therefore God's vengeful ire Glows on his people, and becomes a fire, Whose greedy and exalted flame shall burn, Till they like straw or chaff to nothing turn. Because they have rebell'd against the right, To God and Law perversely opposite, As plants which Sun nor showers did ever bless, So shall their root convert to rottenness; And their succession's bud, in which they trust, Shall (like Gomorrah's fruit) moulder to dust. 60 Woe unto those that, drunk with self-conceit, Value their own designs at such a rate Which human wisdom cannot reach; that sit Enthron'd, as sole monopolists of wit; That outlook reason, and suppose the eye Of Nature blind to their discovery, Whilst they a title make to understand Whatever secret's bosom'd in the land. But God shall imp their pride, and let them see They are but fools in a sublime degree: 70 He shall bring down and humble those proud eyes, In which false glasses only they look'd wise; That all the world may laugh, and learn by it, There is no folly to pretended wit.