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.
The man of reason smiles at her, and Death.
Oh! what a patrimony this! a being
Of such inherent strength and majesty,
Not worlds possess’d can raise it; worlds destroy’d
Can’t injure; which holds on its glorious course,