And so much more he gains, for more will long:

Thus, key in hand, his coffers full among;

Yet poor he thinks himself, and learns to know

His state is poor, because he thinks it so.

Another like illusion his to roam

From wife and friends, who flying light and home,

To dedicate his vigils the long night

In secret haunts of play makes his delight,

With vile companions. Betwixt hope and fear

His anxious breast is fluctuating drear.