 | Every Man in his Own Way |  |
You may condemn our Gamesters, if you please:
But is he more ridiculous than these,
Who count their glitt'ring Dirt essential Bliss?
Umidius has no other Joy but this.
For Gold he studies, strives, and toils, and sweats;
For Gold he swears, and lyes, and jobs, and cheats.
Full fifty thousand Pounds he has in Store,
And yet he covets fifty thousand more.
No wild Profusion wastes his useless Hoard;
No Soups, or French Ragoûs, adorn his Board:
But, lest such Diet should provoke his Lust,
He dines, like Seneca, upon a Crust;
And thinks the Turks Religion most divine,
Because it has forbid them drinking Wine.
But is he more ridiculous than these,
Who count their glitt'ring Dirt essential Bliss?
Umidius has no other Joy but this.
For Gold he studies, strives, and toils, and sweats;
For Gold he swears, and lyes, and jobs, and cheats.
6
And yet he covets fifty thousand more.
No wild Profusion wastes his useless Hoard;
No Soups, or French Ragoûs, adorn his Board:
But, lest such Diet should provoke his Lust,
He dines, like Seneca, upon a Crust;
And thinks the Turks Religion most divine,
Because it has forbid them drinking Wine.
| Every Man in his Own Way | |