OF THE COVETOUS.

He is a servant to himself, yea, to his servant; and doth base homage to
that which should be the worst drudge. A lifeless piece of earth is his
master, yea his god, which he shrines in his coffer, and to which he
sacrifices his heart. Every face of his coin is a new image, which he
adores with the highest veneration; yet takes upon him to be protector
of that he worshippeth, which he fears to keep and abhors to lose, not
daring to trust either any other god or his own. Like a true chemist, he
turns everything into silver, both what he should eat, and what he
should wear; and that he keeps to look on, not to use. When he returns
from his field, he asks, not without much rage, what became of the loose
crust in his cupboard, and who hath rioted among his leeks. He never
eats good meal but on his neighbour's trencher, and there he makes
amends to his complaining stomach for his former and future fasts. He
bids his neighbours to dinner, and when they have done, sends in a
trencher for the shot. Once in a year, perhaps, he gives himself leave
to feast, and for the time thinks no man more lavish; wherein he lists
not to fetch his dishes from far, nor will be beholden to the shambles;
his own provision shall furnish his board with an insensible cost, and
when his guests are parted, talks how much every man devoured, and how
many cups were emptied, and feeds his family with the mouldy remnants a
month after. If his servant break but an earthen dish for want of light,
he abates it out of his quarter's wages. He chips his bread, and sends
it back to exchange for staler. He lets money, and sells time for a
price, and will not be importuned either to prevent or defer his day;
and in the meantime looks for secret gratuities, besides the main