Classic Poem

If of thy own, thou woud'st not cheated be,
Of thine let not thy own Self cozen thee,
By thy own Avarice, which does the Use
Of all thou hast, to thy own self refuse;
And if more lasting thou wou'st have thy Store,
Give more on't to thy self, most truly Poor;
Not to keep up, but part with what thou hast,
Is the best way to make thy Riches last;
Since that Heav'n covenants, you shall receive
An hundred-fold, for Riches which you give;
Your Wealth then out of Int'rest, but the more
To make of it, and multiply your Store,
Lend not the Rich, but give now to the Poor;
Since your Desires, which with your Stores increase,
Make them, as more, but for your own Use, less;
Who, but as your Command, Wealth, Pow'r, grow more,
Have but the less your Passions in your Pow'r;
Then, as your Riches, Honours multiply,
Lessen your Avarice, Pride, Vanity,
Your Wealth, Fame, Virtue, more to magnifie;
And since, that Popularity you crave,
Let not your Pride, make you your Vassal's Slave;
Your Avarice, to lose all that you have:
Since you but talk of Lordships, Liberties,
Think, you can make free, grant, release, demise;
Whilst you are not enfranchis'd, or have Pow'r,
To be free of your own Free-Lands, one Hour;
Over your self you have no Royalty,
Freedom, Command, Disposal, Seigniory;
In Villanage to Gold, and Tyrant-Care,
Enslaving Passions, and your servile Fear,
(In spight of Birth, Wealth, Pow'r) a Vassal are:
You, tho' you ride vast Circuits o'er your Land,
No Usufruct have of it, or Command;
Since by your Wealth's, and your Command's Increase,
Your Pow'r o'er them, and your own self, grows less;
Your Lording Passions your Free-Will controul,
Keep you their Pris'ner, in your narrow Soul;
You no Lord are, but Steward of your Land,
To raise your Rents but cannot them command
Then since a Steward, cast up your Account
Once right, and see, to what your Stores amount;
And since you seem so much for Cyphering,
Number your Plagues, by Coin your self to bring,
To the just Computation of your Store,
You'll find, the more you have, you want the more;
Since your Desires, more with your Stores increase,
You Poor, Rich, Proud Man, (as you must confess)
The more you have, have, for your own Use less;
Then a strict Reck'ning with your own self make;
Your own, let not your Av'rice from you take,
The more you spare still, but the more to lack:
Subtract your Hopes, and multiply your Fears;
Divide your precious Time, and add your Cares
At Foot of your Account, it will appear,
How much behind-hand with your self you are,
And Heav'n; whose Bounty too you but abuse,
Which of its Loans expects some Pious Use;
Whilst you, that you are wrong'd by Fate believe,
And that you from it ne'er enough receive;
That Providence itself's your Debtor too,
And for you, does not what you merit do:
But when all's done, do more than you are wont,
With Heav'n, but once cast up true your Account;
You'll find, that much is wanting to the Poor,
All to the Rich, who runs with Heav'n o'th' Score,
Repays it less, as his Debt's to it more;
Puts Providence off, to its utmost Day,
Tho' he for none stays, thinks that Heaven may:
But since in Wealth you place your Heaven here,
Think not of t'other, hope not to come there;
That is a Purchace Rich Men seldom make,
Who never their Live's last, or dearest Stake
Can manage, but the more they scrape or get,
Are but more backward to pay Nature's Debt:
So that your Plenty grows your Misery,
Which you does less, the more 'tis, satisfie,
Increasing Av'rice, does fear Vanity;
Guilt, Want, thus of your Credit, or your Ease,
Becomes but your Desires, Pains, Fears increase;
Your Stores are justly then your Shame, Fear, Grief,
Since too much, not enough for your Relief;
For since the more you have, the more you crave,
You needs must want more, but the more you have;
Then, if at more Wealth, Honour, you'd aspire,
Your Store augment not, lessen your Desire;
Since he, who all Things wants, is not so Poor,
As he, who more he has, but wants the more;
The Miser's Want so, shou'd be more his Shame.
As but more Voluntary, more his Blame;
For, Poor Mens Wants, or Miseries, are none
Of their Faults, but their Fate's Faults are alone,
Whilst the Rich Miser's only are his own;
Who is, in spight of Providence, or Fate,
Made, by his Thrift, in a more Wanting State,
So, for his Fortune, more Unfortunate;
Who, by his Thrist, shows his Dishonesty,
Who, the Use of, what he has, will deny,
To his own self so, but most selfishly;
Refuses his own self, his own Relief,
By which, he is, (of all) the greatest Thief;
For, as Self-Murther is the greatest Crime,
Self-Fraud is sure, the greatest Sin in him.