Thy joyous mood with them is flown,
The hurricane so suddenly
Doth sweep away thy property.
Dost from the world withdraw thyself,
And lov'st God more than gold or pelf?
Thy crown, thy jewel, thy good name
Is cover'd by the world with shame.
For he who can't dissembler play,
The world as fool will spurn away.
'Tis true, alas! that trouble waits