|
| SONNET 146 |
| Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, |
| [ ] these rebel powers that thee array; |
| Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, |
| Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? |
| Why so large cost, having so short a lease, |
| Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? |
| Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, |
| Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? |
| Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, |
| And let that pine to aggravate thy store; |
| Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; |
| Within be fed, without be rich no more: |
| So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, |
| And Death once dead, there's no more dying then. |
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