The Insatiableness of Avarice.
Though the covetous grown wealthy
See his piles of gold rise high;
Though he gather store of treasure
That can never satisfy;
Though with pearls his gorget blazes,
Rarest that the ocean yields;
Though a hundred head of oxen
Travail in his ample fields;
Ne'er shall carking care forsake him
While he draws this vital breath,
And his riches go not with him,
When his eyes are closed in death.
-Boethius, 524 CE
The people asked for a poem written by #Boethius, so I will provide a poem by Boethius. If you want to hear me read this, then check out this week's #TheMathematiciansPodcast for an episode of philosophy, theology and maths.
#TalkingMaths
#MathsSky
Find it here: www.podbean.com/eas/pb-gwbmn...