Who is poor Richard? people oft inquire Where lives? what is he—never yet the higher. Somewhat to ease your curiositie Take these slight sketches of my dame and me. Thanks to kind readers and a careful wife, With plenty blessed I lead an easy life; My business writing; hers to drain the mead Or crown the barren hill with useful shade; In the smooth glebe to see the ploughshare worn And fill my granary with needful corn; Press nectarous cider from my loaded trees, Print the sweet butter, turn the drying cheese. Some books we read, though few there are that hit The happy point where wisdom joins with wit, That set fair virtue naked to our view And teach us what is decent, what is true. The friend sincere and honest man with joy, Treating or treated oft our time employ. Our table neat, meal temperate, and our door Opening spontaneous to the bashful poor. Free from the bitter rage of party zeal All those we love who seek the public weal, Nor blindly follow Superstition's lore, Which cheats deluded mankind o'er and o'er. Not over righteous, quite beyond the rule, Conscience-perplexed by every canting tool, Nor yet where folly hides the dubious line, Where good and bad their blended colors join, Rush indiscreetly down the dangerous steep, And plunge uncertain in the darksome deep. Cautious if right; if wrong, resolved to part The innate snake that folds around the heart; Observe the mean, the motive and the end, Mending ourselves or striving still to mend. Our souls sincere, our purpose fair and free Without vain-glory or hypocrisy: Thankful if well, if ill we kiss the rod, Resign with hope and put our trust in _God_. The preface for 1747 is as follows.