Wasted my wordy wealth, spilt my rich wine,
Made my square ship within a league of shore,
Alas! to be entombed in seas and seen no more.
THE POOR OF LONDON.
Almighty God, whose Justice, like a sun
Shall coruscate along the floors of heaven:
Raising what’s low, perfecting what’s undone,
Breaking the proud, and making odd things even.