You wantons! who impoverish Seas,
And th' ayre dispeople, your proud taste to please!
A greedy tyrant you obey
Who varies still its tribute with the day.
What interest doth all the vaine
Cunning of surfet to your sences gaine?
Since it obscure the Spirit must
And bow the flesh to sleep disease or lust.
While who forgetting rest and fare;
Watcheth the fall and rising of each starre,