Reaps with his sword rich harvests, which war yields.
Base parasites repose their drunken heads,
Laden with sleep and wine, on Tyrian beds;
And he that melts in Lust's adult'rous fire,
Gets both reward and pleasure for his hire.
But Learning only, midst this wanton heat,
Hath (save itself) nothing to wear or eat;
Faintly exclaiming on the looser Times,
That value Wit and Arts below their crimes.