5 That the singing of the wicked [is] short, And the joy of the profane for a moment,
6 Though his excellency go up to the heavens, And his head against a cloud he strike --
7 As his own dung for ever he doth perish, His beholders say: `Where [is] he?`
8 As a dream he fleeth, and they find him not, And he is driven away as a vision of the night,
9 The eye hath not seen him, and addeth not. And not again doth his place behold him.
10 His sons do the poor oppress, And his hands give back his wealth.
11 His bones have been full of his youth, And with him on the dust it lieth down.
