A grasping miser loses all again ;
I seek no further proof to make it plain
Than what the fable of his Hen has told,
A Hen that daily laid an egg of gold.
He thought her body did a treasure hold,
So killed her, opened her, but did not find
That she was different from the common kind,
And lost the source from which he riches drew.
A lesson, niggards, this for you.
In days of late we’ve seen, and not a few,
Beggars become ’twixt morn and noon.
In seeking to be rich too soon.