Epigram
He whose advent'rous keele ploughes the rough Seas,
Takes Interest of Fate for wealth's increase.
He that in Battaile trafficks, and pitch't fields,
Reaps with his Sword rich Harvests, which warre yeelds.
Base parasites repose their drunken heads,
Laden with Sleep and Wine, on Tyrian beds.
And he that melts in Lust's adult'rous fire
Getts both reward and pleasure for his hire.
But Learning only, midst this wanton heat,
Hath (save it self) nothing to weare or eat;
Faintly exclaiming on the looser Times,
That value Witt and Artes belowe their Crimes.
Takes Interest of Fate for wealth's increase.
He that in Battaile trafficks, and pitch't fields,
Reaps with his Sword rich Harvests, which warre yeelds.
Base parasites repose their drunken heads,
Laden with Sleep and Wine, on Tyrian beds.
And he that melts in Lust's adult'rous fire
Getts both reward and pleasure for his hire.
But Learning only, midst this wanton heat,
Hath (save it self) nothing to weare or eat;
Faintly exclaiming on the looser Times,
That value Witt and Artes belowe their Crimes.
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