Classic Poem

The hoarded silver is not white,
Thou foe to metal in the mine,
Unless by circulation bright
And mod'rate use it shine.
Let Proculeius live in song,
A father to his brethren known;
Fame jealous-wing'd, shall bear along
The bounty, he has shown.
A vaster realm you shall subdue,
By conq'ring of a greedy mind,
Than Lybia and the Gades too
With either Carthage join'd.
— The self-indulging dropsy grows,
Nor slacks its thirst, until the cause
From out the pallid body flows,
And watry pain withdraws.
The king restor'd, and repossess'd,
Not like the crowd fair virtue views,
Nor numbers him amongst the bless'd,
The language to abuse;
The laurel, diadem and reign
She more to that great man applies,
Who looks upon immod'rate gain
With unaffected eyes.