University of Virginia Library


220

FABLE XVII. The Miser and Plutus.

The Miser starts, and trembling stares,
Wak'd with imaginary Fears.
Soon Qualms arise; with anxious Pain
He thinks on his ill-gotten Gain.
For thee, he cries, accursed Gold,
My Honour's lost, my Virtue sold.—
Plutus appears.—Why thus abus'd?
Thus curst? Thus falsly, Sir, accus'd?
“Know, Riches on the Good bestow'd,
“Are Blessings worthy of a God.