Classic Poem

Charles, grave or merry, at no lie would stick,
And taught at length his mem'ry the same trick.
Believing thus, what he so oft repeats,
He's brought the thing to such a pass, poor youth!
That now himself, and no one else, he cheats,
Save when unluckily he tells the truth.

A N evil spirit's on thee, friend! of late —
Ev'n from the hour thou cam'st to thy estate.
Thy mirth all gone, thy kindness, thy discretion,
Th' estate has prov'd to thee a most complete possession .
Shame, shame, old friend! would'st thou be truly blest,
Be thy wealth's lord, not slave! possessor , not possess'd .