Let all the world slave to this tyrant be,
Creature to this disguisèd deity,
Yet it shall never conquer me.
A guard of virtues will not let it pass,
And wisdom is a tower of stronger brass.
The muses’ laurel, round my temples spread,
Does from this lightning’s force secure my head,
Nor will I lift it up so high,
As in the violent meteor’s way to lie.
Wealth for its power do we honour and adore?
The things we hate, ill fate, and death, have more.