Gold

A mighty pain to love it is,
  And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;
  But, of all pains, the greatest pain
  It is to love, but love in vain.
  Virtue now, nor noble blood,
  Nor wit by love is understood;
  Gold alone does passion move,
  Gold monopolizes love;
  A curse on her, and on the man
  Who this traffic first began!
  A curse on him who found the ore!
  A curse on him who digged the store!
  A curse on him who did refine it!
  A curse on him who first did coin it!
  A curse, all curses else above,
  On him who used it first in love!
  Gold begets in brethren hate;
  Gold in families debate;
  Gold does friendship separate;
  Gold does civil wars create.
  These the smallest harms of it!
  Gold, alas! does love beget.