Covetous.
A mole. A son of earth that digs his mothers entrals To turn up treasure, A rich beggar troubled with Midas itch A sucking spunge, one that sits brooding ore his bags Theefe to himself. A dung-hil wretch, muck-worm Grown poore by getting riches, his own torture A rust unto himself, as to his gold, That spider-like doth spin a web of gold, Out of his own bowels-only knows the care And another the use of gold, scraping dust-worm, That starves at feasts, and in the Rivers thirsts, Whose wretched mind bends to no point but this, That who have most of wealth, have most of bliss Volopone's. Armed with hooking tentors, and clad in bird••ime That scrape like dung-hil Cocks in dirt and mire To find the gemme, they know not how to use Golds dropsied Er••sycthous. Like Dypsa's thirst, Is never satisfied, unless it burst. Ever hungry, till he surfets Wealths horse-leaches that ever crave So much the more, the more they have, Whose droyling hands thinks nothing can supply The greedy wants of his insatiat eye. Nought can fill Th' unfathom'd gulf of his insatiate will. The picture of miserable happiness, and rich beggery;Such an one, as an enemy could not wish him worse, than to be himself; doing any thing to get that which he is determined, when it is gotten never to use.
Rich fools, whose base and filthy heart Lies hatching still the goods wherein they flow, And damning their own selves to Tantals smart, Wealth breeding want, more wretched grow, A chiverel conscience, that will stretch to hold more, Base stooping soules, that grovel on the earth,