up comes the sun with the scorching wind and withers the grass, its flower drops off, and the splendour of it is ruined: so shall the rich fade away amid their pursuits.
These people are stains on your love-feasts; they have no qualms about carousing in your midst, they look after none but themselves — rainless clouds, swept along by the wind, trees in autumn without fruit, doubly dead and so uprooted,