[10]
Riches, like Insects, when conceal'd they lie,
Wait but for Wings, and in their Season, fly.
Who sees pale Mammon pine amidst his Store,
Sees but a backward Steward for the Poor;
This Year a Reservoir, to keep and spare,
The next, a Fountain spouting thro' his Heir,
In lavish Streams to quench a Country's thirst,
And Men, and Dogs, shall drink him till they burst.
Wait but for Wings, and in their Season, fly.
Who sees pale Mammon pine amidst his Store,
Sees but a backward Steward for the Poor;
This Year a Reservoir, to keep and spare,
The next, a Fountain spouting thro' his Heir,
In lavish Streams to quench a Country's thirst,
And Men, and Dogs, shall drink him till they burst.
Old Cotta sham'd his fortune, and his birth,
Yet was not Cotta void of wit or worth:
What tho' (the use of barb'rous Spits forgot)
His Kitchen vy'd in coolness with his Grot;
His Court with Nettles, Moat with Cresses stor'd,
With Soups unbought, and Sallads, blest his board.
If Cotta liv'd on Pulse, it was no more
Than Bramins, Saints, and Sages did before;
To cram the Rich, was prodigal expence,
And who would take the Poor from Providence?
Like some lone Chartreuse stands the good old Hall,
Silence without, and Fasts within the wall;
No rafter'd Roofs with Dance and Tabor sound,
No Noontide-bell invites the Country round;
Yet was not Cotta void of wit or worth:
What tho' (the use of barb'rous Spits forgot)
His Kitchen vy'd in coolness with his Grot;
His Court with Nettles, Moat with Cresses stor'd,
With Soups unbought, and Sallads, blest his board.
If Cotta liv'd on Pulse, it was no more
Than Bramins, Saints, and Sages did before;
To cram the Rich, was prodigal expence,
And who would take the Poor from Providence?
Like some lone Chartreuse stands the good old Hall,
Silence without, and Fasts within the wall;
No rafter'd Roofs with Dance and Tabor sound,
No Noontide-bell invites the Country round;
Tenants
