Page:The heptalogia, or, The seven against sense - a cap with seven bells (IA heptalogiaorseve00swin).pdf/45

 Broad as fen's lands men's hands were wont Leave grieve unploughed, though proud and loud With birds' words—No! he won't!

One never should think good impossible. Eh? say I'd hide this Jew's oil's cruse— His shop might hold bright gold, engrossible By spy—spring's air takes there no care To wave the heath-flower's glossy bell!

But gold bells chime in time there, coined— Gold! Old Sphinx winks there—'Read my screed!' Doctrine Jews learn, use, burn for, joined (Through new craft's stealth) with health and wealth— At once all three purloined!