Coals make the sterling, Nature but the dross.
For metals, Bacchus-like, two births approve;
10Heaven's heat 's the Semele, and ours the Jove.
Thus Art doth polish Nature; 'tis her trade:
So every madam has her chambermaid.
Who'd dote on gold? A thing so strange and odd,
'Tis most contemptible when made a god!
All sins and mischiefs thence have rise and swell;
One Indies more would make another Hell.
Our mines are innocent, nor will the North