Mihi pondera, luxus
When autumne ripes, the frutefull fieldes of graine,
And CERES doth in all her pompe appeare,
The heavie eare, doth breake the stalke in twaine,
Wherebie wee see, this by experience cleare:
Hir owne excesse, did cause her proper spoile,
And made her corne, to rotte uppon the soile.
Soe worldlie wealthe, and great aboundaunce, marres:
The sharpenes of our sences, and our wittes,
And oftentimes, our understanding barres,
And dulles the same, with manie carefull fittes:
Then since Excesse procures our spoile and paine,
The meane preferre, before immoderate gaine.