Want.

Want is a softer wax, that takes thereon,
This, that, and every base impression,

Give me a man that is not dull,
When all the world with rifts is full;
But unamazed dares clearly sing,
When as the roof's a-tottering;
And though it falls, continues still
Tickling the Cittern with his quill.

Want is a softer wax, that takes thereon,
This, that, and every base impression,

Who begs to die for fear of human need,
Wisheth his body, not his soul, good speed.

To bread and water none is poor;
And having these, what need of more?
Though much from out the cess be spent,
Nature with little is content.

Evil no nature hath; the loss of good
Is that which gives to sin a livelihood.