Says 'Sir, I'm sorry you do entertain
160Such high conceits of folly hemmed with gold:
Think you no marriage good if equal lands
Be not matchmakers and do join their hands?
Don Fuco has ten thousand pounds a year,
With weighty titles would o'erload a mule,
A piece of arras finely wrought and dear;
But does he square his life to virtue's rule?
With vice as wealth, to countless sums he thrives,
But is, in virtue, full as poor as wives.