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