If thou art rich, thou art poor; For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, Thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, And death unloads thee. _Shakspere._ Woe to the worldly man, whose covetous Ambition labours to join house to house; Lay field to field, till the enclosures edge The plain, girdling a country with one hedge: They leave no place unbought; no piece of earth Which they will not engross; making a dearth Of all inhabitants; until they stand Unneighboured as unblest within the land. _Bishop King._ Gold glitters most where virtue shines no more, As stars from absent suns, have leave to shine. _Young._ O cursed lust of gold! when for thy sake The fool throws up his interest in both worlds; First starved in this, then damned in that to come. _Blair._ Starve beside the chests, whose every corn At the last day, shall in the court of Heaven Witness against thee. _Sir E. B. Lytton._ _Avarice_ o’ershoots Its destined mark; and with abundance cursed, In wealth, the ills of poverty endures. _George Bally._ The thirst for gold Hath made men demons, till the heart that feels The impulse of impartial love, nor kneels In worship foul to Mammon, is contemned. _W. H. Burleigh._ But should my destiny be quest of wealth, Kind Heaven, oh! keep my tempted soul in health! And should’st thou bless my toil with ample store, Keep back the madness that would seek for more! _Thomas Ward._ Oh! life misspent--Oh! foulest waste of time! No time has he his grovelling mind to store With history’s truths, or philosophic lore. No charms for him has God’s all-blooming earth-- His only question this--“What are they worth?” Art, nature, wisdom, are no match for gain; And even religion bids him pause in vain. _Thomas Ward._ The miser comes, his heart to mammon sold-- His life, his hope, his god, his all is gold. “To-morrow, and to-morrow,” he will say, “Soul, take thine ease, for thou hast many a day Whose smiling dawns will make thee to rejoice.” Hush! Hark the echoes of that awful voice! “Thou fool! This night yield up thy earthly trust!” Gaze once again, his treasures are but dust. _B. D. Winslow._