The world appears like a great family,Whose lord, oppressed with pride and poverty,(That to the few great bounty he may show)Is fain to starve the numerous train below.

Dead we become the lumber of the world.

It is a good world to live in,To lend, or to spend, or to give in;But to beg or to borrow, or to get a man's own,It is the very worst world that ever was known.

There's not a thing on earth that I can name,So foolish, and so false, as common fame.

A merry monarch, scandalous and poor.

For pointed satire I would Buckhurst choose,The best good man with the worst-natured muse.

Angels listen when she speaks:She ’s my delight, all mankind’s wonder;But my jealous heart would breakShould we live one day asunder.

Then talk not of Inconstancy,False Hearts, and broken Vows;If I, by Miracle, can beThis live-long Minute true to thee,‘Tis all that Heav’n allows.

So, when my Days of Impotence approach,And I’m by Pox and Wine’s unlucky chanceDriv'n from the pleasing Billows of debauchOn the dull Shore of lazy Temperance;My Pains at least some Respite shall affordWhile I behold the Battles you maintainWhen Fleets of Glasses sail about the Board,From whose Broad-sides Volleys of Wit shall rain.

Thus, Statesman-like, I’ll saucily impose,And, safe from Danger, valiantly advise;Sheltered in Impotence, urge you to Blows,And, being good for nothing else, be Wise.