Classic Poem

If Gold protracts the merry Scene,
And partial Death obeys its Pow'r;
With prudent Forecast, careful Mien,
I'll amass the shining Store.

And if his grisley Godship come,
I'll divert the fatal Dart.
A Purse he wants——Behold the Sum——
He'll scrape obsequious, and depart.

But since reverseless Fates deny
This Virtue to the glitt'ring Ore;
Tell me, Mortal, tell me, why
Should I the gaudy Dust adore?

Then let the ruddy God advance,
And some beauteous lovesome She;
With Mirth, and Joke, and Quirp, and Dance:
These alone have Joys for me.