Cardinal Wolsey to His Hound

Approach, my hound; approach and lick my hand;
Thou art not human, and thou wilt not bite;
And still thou fawnest on me in despite
Of frowning courtiers and a king's command.

O hound, O hound,—if thou couldst understand
How ruined I am, and in what sorry plight,
Thou too wouldst turn against me, and delight
To root thy fangs, like all the thankless band.

I might have built my house upon a rock;
I chose to build it on the sands that slide,
And fill it up with gold until it fell.

Approach and lick my hand, that we may mock
With they sincerity the tongues that lied,
And with thy love the friends that bite so well.