Rich fools there be, whose base and filthy heart <br />Lies hatching still the goods wherein they flow: <br />And damning their own selves to Tantal's smart, <br />Wealth breeding want, more blist more wretched grow. <br /> <br />Yet to those fools heav'n such wit doth impart <br />As what their hands do hold, their heads do know, <br />And knowing love, and loving, lay apart, <br />As sacred things, far from all danger's show. <br /> <br />But that rich fool who by blind Fortune's lot <br />The richest gem of love and life enjoys, <br />And can with foul abuse such beauties blot; <br /> <br />Let him, depriv'd of sweet but unfelt joys, <br />(Exil'd for aye from those high treasures, which <br />He knows not) grow in only folly rich.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xxiv-rich-fools-there-be/
