Were there no lust of gain none would be evil.
Time is of every woe the healer.
To man no suffering unexpected comes;
We hold our fortune but from day to day.
No man's more fortunate than he who's poor,
Since for the worse his fortune cannot change.
How senseless is the sordid love of gain;
Blind to all else the mind that's set on profit.
Long time thou'lt toil to gather up the heap
Which thou canst scatter in a single day.
