And wander wild through things impossible! What wealth, in faculties of endless growth, In quenchless passions violent to crave, In liberty to choose, in power to reach, And in duration (how thy riches rise!) Duration to perpetuate--boundless bliss! Ask you, what power resides in feeble man That bliss to gain? Is Virtue's, then, unknown? Virtue, our present peace, our future prize. Man's unprecarious, natural estate, 480 Improveable at will, in virtue lies; Its tenure sure; its income is divine. High-built abundance, heap on heap! for what? To breed new wants, and beggar us the more; Then make a richer scramble for the throng? Soon as this feeble pulse, which leaps so long Almost by miracle, is tired with play, Like rubbish from disploding engines thrown, Our magazines of hoarded trifles fly; Fly diverse; fly to foreigners, to foes; 490 New masters court, and call the former fools (How justly!), for dependence on their stay. Wide scatter, first, our playthings; then, our dust. Dost court abundance for the sake of peace? Learn, and lament thy self-defeated scheme: Riches enable to be richer still; And, richer still, what mortal can resist? Thus wealth (a cruel taskmaster!) enjoins New toils, succeeding toils, an endless train! And murders peace, which taught it first to shine. 500 The poor are half as wretched as the rich; Whose proud and painful privilege it is At once, to bear a double load of woe; To feel the stings of envy, and of want, Outrageous want! both Indies cannot cure. A competence is vital to content. Much wealth is corpulence, if not disease; Sick, or encumber'd, is our happiness, A competence is all we can enjoy. Oh, be content, where Heaven can give no more! 510 More, like a flash of water from a lock, Quickens our spirits' movement for an hour; But soon its force is spent, nor rise our joys Above our native temper's common stream. Hence disappointment lurks in every prize, As bees in flowers; and stings us with success. The rich man, who denies it, proudly feigns; Nor knows the wise are privy to the lie. Much learning shows how little mortals know; Much wealth, how little worldlings can enjoy: 520 At best, it babies us with endless toys, And keeps us children till we drop to dust. As monkeys at a mirror stand amazed, They fail to find what they so plainly see; 524 Thus men, in shining riches, see the face Of happiness, nor know it is a shade; But gaze, and touch, and peep, and peep again, And wish, and wonder it is absent still. How few can rescue opulence from want! Who lives to Nature, rarely can be poor; Who lives to Fancy, never can be rich. Poor is the man in debt; the man of gold, 532 In debt to Fortune, trembles at her power.