Aria
You poor hungry ones, rest a bit
From your self-imposed torment
And cease your fasting!
You are quite rich,
Yet live much the same as the poorest beggars
Even with your full treasure chests.

Recitative
For whom do you hoard everything?
For whom is the greater Good,
Those who indeed receive no benefit from you?
If you don’t know, you might simply ask me;
Listen closely! I will tell you:
You are stockpiling for laughing heirs,
Who, in time, after your death,
Will rest upon your sumptuous feathers
And squander it all.

You live poor and die wealthy;
You freeze, that one day
Others may warm themselves with your coal.
Ah, simply die!
The wood that will be saved
Will burn all the brighter.

Aria
Money, do not let yourself be coveted!
Know that, at the day of salvation
A true collection will be taken!
The executioner, who brought you
Imprisoned into this world,
And who keeps you in custody -
Because he will one day die,
Won’t hold you here forever.