Classic Poem

If, as you take Agrippa's dues,
Sicilian wealth you rightly use,
A greater affluence, my friend,
From Jove himself cou'd not descend:
Cease murm'ring, for you cannot plead
You're poor, and have the things you need.
If well with belly, and with back,
And for your feet you nothing lack,
I do not see to make you glad
How ev'n imperial wealth wou'd add.
If midst such plenty and such sums
You starve on herbs and miller's thumbs ,
So very near you'll skin the flint,
That you will raise at least a mint ,
And fortune shortly shall behold,
A pow'ring in a flood of gold;
Because mere money, it is plain,
Can ne'er avail to change the grain,
Or that it is your thought and tone,
That all things yield to worth alone.
What wonder, if his neighbours cows,
Upon his fields and meadows brouze,
If the old sophist's active mind
Be wand'ring from the man disjoin'd;
When you a scrambler, and a sneak,
Will after nothing trivial seek,
But still to things exalted strain:
As how the shores the floods contain,
What rules the year, if on the pole
The stars self-mov'd, or guided roll,
What cause the Lunar orb benights,
And what again her beauty lights;
What is the pow'r, and what th'intent
Of all this dissonant consent?
Who most with reason disagrees,
Stertinius or Empedocles?
But whether butchering of a rough ,
Or leeks and chives, your plate you stuff,
Use Grosphus as a friend, and give
With freedom what he will receive:
I'll warrant Grosphus, that his pray'r
Shall only be for what is fair.
One vast benevolence may reap,
When good men want, true friends are cheap.
Now that you may not be in doubt,
How our affairs at Rome turn out,
The Spanish and Armenian bands,
By Nero's and Agrippa's hands,
Are fall'n — Phraates on his knee,
Does to great Caesar's terms agree;
And golden plenty all around
Full-horn'd, th'Italian crops has crown'd.