Classic Poem

My mind i th' mines of rich Philosophy
Did sweetly sweat, t' inrich all standers by;
Mean time, my Blades did want their masters [eye]
Filtched Royall Cash, then in my custody;
The Deed was Theirs, The fault was mine,
Or His who did me imploy;
So lurch'd was I,
Reduc'd to outward penury;
Tho' rich in Tongues, Arts, Parts, and Fame
And every Thing that's High.