The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Horace, Book IV. Ode IX.
VIRTUE conceal'd within our breast
Is inactivity at best:
But never shall the Muse endure
To let your virtues lie obscure;
Or suffer Envy to conceal
Your labours for the publick weal.
Within your breast all wisdom lies,
Either to govern or advise;
Your steady soul preserves her frame,
In good and evil times the same.
Pale Avarice and lurking Fraud,
Stand in your sacred presence aw'd;
Your hand alone from gold abstains,
Which drags the slavish world in chains.
Him for a happy man I own,
Whose fortune is not overgrown;
And happy he, who wisely knows
To use the gifts that Heaven bestows;
Or, if it please the Powers Divine,
Can suffer want, and not repine.
The man, who infamy to shun
Into the arms of death would run;
That man is ready to defend,
With life, his country or his friend.