Classic Poem

What Profiteth it a Man to Gain the whol world and to Loose his Soule

The Merchant flyes ore Neptunes Plain
To Lard His ware hous and for Gain
The subtil Statist breaks his Rest
To add more feathers to His Nest
The Bowld-fac't Souldier for his Pay
Ventures to Cast his Life away
Yet few of These consider what
Is of a far more pretious rate
The Soule I mean of such esteem
As the whol world cannot redeem
For that to loose concerns one more
Than All rich Pearle or Indian Ore
Pleasure and Honers, Proffits are
The Sensualists Peculier
But wher the Soule in Ballence lies
Which is Immortall never Dies
Who doth not All things else despize
Comparatively is not wise.