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Consolation of Philosophy

Boethius, tr. “I.T.”, rev. Stewart, 1918

Book 3, 3. Poem 3

Although the rich man from his mines of gold
Dig treasure which his mind can never fill,
And lofty neck with precious pearls enfold,
And his fat fields with many oxen till,
Yet biting cares will never leave his head,
Nor will his wealth attend him being dead.