And gall the finders conscience, if they meet. Or let mee creepe to some dread Conjurer, That with phantastique scheames fils full much paper; 60 Which hath divided heaven in tenements, And with whores, theeves, and murderers stuft his rents, So full, that though hee passe them all in sinne, He leaves himselfe no roome to enter in. But if, when all his art and time is spent, 65 Hee say 'twill ne'r be found; yet be content; Receive from him that doome ungrudgingly, Because he is the mouth of destiny. Thou say'st (alas) the gold doth still remaine, Though it be chang'd, and put into a chaine; 70 So in the first falne angels, resteth still Wisdome and knowledge; but,'tis turn'd to ill: As these should doe good works; and should provide Necessities; but now must nurse thy pride. And they are still bad angels; Mine are none; 75 For, forme gives being, and their forme is gone: Pitty these Angels; yet their dignities Passe Vertues, Powers, and Principalities. But, thou art resolute; Thy will be done! Yet with such anguish, as her onely sonne 80 The Mother in the hungry grave doth lay, Vnto the fire these Martyrs I betray. Good soules, (for you give life to every thing) Good Angels, (for good messages you bring) Destin'd you might have beene to such an one, 85 As would have lov'd and worship'd you alone: One that would suffer hunger, nakednesse, Yea death, ere he would make your number lesse. But, I am guilty of your sad decay; May your few fellowes longer with me stay. 90 But ô thou wretched finder whom I hate So, that I almost pitty thy estate: Gold being the heaviest metal amongst all, May my most heavy curse upon thee fall: Here fetter'd, manacled, and hang'd in chains, 95 First mayst thou bee; then chaind to hellish paines; Or be with forraine gold brib'd to betray Thy Countrey, and faile both of that and thy pay. May the next thing thou stoop'st to reach, containe Poyson, whose nimble fume rot thy moist braine; 100 Or libels, or some interdicted thing, Which negligently kept, thy ruine bring. Lust-bred diseases rot thee; and dwell with thee Itching desire, and no abilitie. May all the evils that gold ever wrought; 105 All mischiefes that all devils ever thought; Want after plenty; poore and gouty age; The plagues of travellers; love; marriage Afflict thee, and at thy lives last moment, May thy swolne sinnes themselves to thee present. 110 But, I forgive; repent thee honest man: Gold is Restorative, restore it then: But if from it thou beest loath to depart, Because 'tis cordiall, would twere at thy heart.