Classic Poem

O Gracious Golde,
Whose glittering hie:
Doth cheere and holde,
Eche gazing eie.
The sweete delight,
That dwelles in thee:
Doth spoyle eche spight,
And pouertee.
Thou liftes aloft,
Who late was lowe:
By thee Fooles oft,
The wise orethrow.
What ioy, what gaine,
What worldly thing:
Doth want to them,
That Golde doe bring?
Golde buyldeth townes,
Golde maketh ioy:
Gold cheereth clownes,
Golde quelth anoy.
Golde all can doe,
Golde raignes alone:
Alas what woe,
Where Golde is none.
As I poore wight,
By proofe doe see:
Which gladly seeke,
That will not bee.
But well I were,
If I might catch,
Whyte syluer cleere,
Which all men snatch.