Classic Poem

That there betwixt us, is great Diff'rence, I,
Acknowledge (for my Credit) willingly;
I poor, by Chance am, but by Nature you,
You require more, I less, so less Want know;
I'm now worth nothing, thou wert always so;
Whose Avarice increases with thy Store,—
I, by Worse Fortune, cannot be more Poor;
Since I can grant my self to crave no more,
Than my Desire in my own Pow'r to have,
So craving nothing, I have all I crave;
Since all a Man can have, is but Content;
Which more Wealth less does give you, than prevent;
I'd rather have an empty Purse, than Scull,
Since both together, are found seldom full;
I'm proud, that me for Friend no Proud Fools own;
Nor Rich Knaves of the Cheating Court, or Town;
Since Men, are by Friends and Companions known;
Thy Greatness shows more thy Mind's Littleness,
Since, as 'tis more, thy Satisfaction's less;
But less, (to make mine more) I scorn to grow,
My Happiness, but to my self, will ow,
Be pleas'd still, whether Fate be pleas'd, or no;
You, but for your full Coffers, crave Renown,
I Men's Esteem, but for an empty'd one;
Empty'd by Mercy, Trust, Munificence,
As thine, by Rapine fill'd, and Diffidence,
By secret Fraud, or open Violence;
Thou, by thy Splendid, New-built House art known,
I by my Worn-out, and an Ancient One;
Such Diff'rence is there betwixt thee and me,
Thee for no Wealth, or Title, wou'd I be;
But scorn both, which wou'd make me like thee, Vain,
Or Covetous, to make me the worse Man;
To have, the more I gain, for my Use less,
Since Avarice, does with our Stores increase;
You Honour crave, for giving it your self,
From your ill-gain'd Good Name, your ill-sav'd Pelf;
Which ought to be your Forfeiture of them,
Rather than Means to get the World's Esteem;
I Honour, but for scorning it, wou'd have,
For Fame, or Gold, I sought not, but I gave;
For Coin or Blood I freely spent, and lost,
And wou'd not save more, to my Honour's Cost;
Or poorly either seek, like thee, but more,
To show my self in Purse, or Spirit Poor;
You, by your Pride, seek Fame ingloriously,
By your vain Height, more to your Infamy,
I, Men's Esteem, by my Humility;
You, from ill-gotten Wealth, seek much more Pow'r,
Which, o'er my self, my Want does give me more;
More Freedom, Credit, Government, or Sway,
As my Will more does that of Heav'n obey;
Since our Desires, to our selves to deny,
Is greater, than 'tis them to satisfie;
Is greater, as the harder 'tis to do,
And hard Achievements most our Honour grow;
So we True Honour have, and Happiness,
Not for our having more, but wanting less;
On Fortune's Alms, poor, craving Rich Men live,
But he, who to himself Content can give,
In spight of Wealth, his Wants can best relieve;
Which Content, is more honourably gain'd,
As by Himself, in spight of Fate, obtain'd;
Whilst others, for their Wealth, or Pow'r they get,
Must be to those, they fear, or hate, in Debt;
That's to the Great, Rich, and Insulting Proud,
Made Slaves by Bad Luck, Tyrants by the Good;
But he, who Want can honourably bear,
Is out of Shame and Need, since out of Fear
Of emulating Enemies, or Fate;
So, for his Ill Luck, is more Fortunate,
And left by Friends, keeps more his Pow'r and State,
By keeping in his Solitude, but more
His Distance with the World, than yet afore,
As more out of it, more in his own Pow'r;
Who can his Wants, best by his Wants supply,
His Virtue make of his Necessity,
Grant himself all, he does himself deny;
In spight of Ill Chance, to be happy still,
To live in Want, Chains free, by his Free-Will;
Who, since he makes none fear him, none does fear,
Whose Want is least felt, as he most does bear;
Since our Life's Burthens, like Beast's Burthens, so,
From our Unquietness, to bear 'em too,
But more our Pains, and our Oppressions, grow;
He makes his Want, to his Advantage turn,
By whom, as more from Use, 'tis better born;
Makes his best Use of his Necessity,
Which him, with Force, Wit, Patience, does supply,
To make his Want, his All-sufficiency.