XXVIII

His life was nigh unto deaths doore yplast,
  And thred-bare cote, and cobled shoes he ware, 245
  Ne scarse good morsell all his life did tast,
  But both from backe and belly still did spare,
  To fill his bags, and richesse to compare;
  Yet chylde ne kinsman living had he none
  To leave them to; but thorough daily care 250
  To get, and nightly feare to lose his owne,
He led a wretched life unto him selfe unknowne.[*]

XXIX

Most wretched wight, whom nothing might suffise,
  Whose greedy lust did lacke in greatest store,
  Whose need had end, but no end covetise, 255
  Whose wealth was want, whose plenty made him pore,
  Who had enough, yet wished ever more;
  A vile disease, and eke in foote and hand
  A grievous gout tormented him full sore,
  That well he could not touch, nor go, nor stand; 260
Such one was Avarice, the fourth of this faire band.

XXX

And next to him malicious Envie rode,
  Upon a ravenous wolfe, and still did chaw
  Betweene his cankred teeth a venemous tode,
  That all the poison ran about his chaw; 265
  But inwardly he chawed his owne maw
  At neighbours wealth, that made him ever sad;
  For death it was when any good he saw,
  And wept, that cause of weeping none he had,
But when he heard of harme, he wexed wondrous glad. 270

XXXI

All in a kirtle of discolourd say
  He clothed was, ypainted full of eyes;
  And in his bosome secretly there lay
  An hatefull Snake, the which his taile uptyes
  In many folds, and mortall sting implyes. 275
  Still as he rode, he gnasht his teeth, to see
  Those heapes of gold with griple Covetyse;
  And grudged at the great felicitie
Of proud Lucifera, and his owne companie.

XXXII

He hated all good workes and vertuous deeds, 280
  And him no lesse, that any like did use,
  And who with gracious bread the hungry feeds,
  His almes for want of faith he doth accuse;
  So every good to bad he doth abuse: 
  And eke the verse of famous Poets witt 285
  He does backebite, and spightfull poison spues
  From leprous mouth on all that ever writt: 
Such one vile Envie was, that fifte in row did sitt.

XXXIII

And him beside rides fierce revenging Wrath,
  Upon a Lion, loth for to be led; 290
  And in his hand a burning brond he hath,
  The which he brandisheth about his hed;
  His eyes did hurle forth sparkles fiery red,
  And stared sterne on all that him beheld,
  As ashes pale of hew and seeming ded; 295
  And on his dagger still his hand he held,
Trembling through hasty rage, when choler in him sweld.