The sonne riseth with heat, and the grasse widereth, and hys flower falleth awaye, & the beautye of the fashyon of it perysheth: euen so shal the ryche man peryshe wyth hys aboundaunce.
There shall neyther hunger nor thurste, heate nor sunne hurte them. For he that fauoureth them, shall leade them, and geue them drincke of the sprynge welles.
And as for the faydynge floure, the glory of hys pompe, whiche is vpon the toppe of the plenteous valleye: it shall happen vnto hym, as to an vntymelye frute before the harueste come. Which as soone as it is sene, is by and by deuoured, or euer it come well in a mans hande.
Wo be to the croune of pryde, to the droncken Ephraemytes, & to the faydynge floure, to the glorye of hys pompe, that is vpon the toppe of the plenteous valleye: whiche men be ouerladen with wine.
Wherfore if God so clothe the grasse, which is to day in the felde, and to morowe shall be cast in to the fournace: shall he not much more do the same vnto you, o ye of lytle fayth?