Why in the blindness of your heart
Do you torment your noble part?”
All this to thee do I indite,
Thou grudging churl, thy heir’s delight,
Who robb’st the gods of incense due,
Thyself of food and raiment too;
Who hear’st the harp with sullen mien,
To whom the piper gives the spleen;
Who’rt full of heavy groans and sighs
When in their price provisions rise;