Since this poor mill is all my wealth;
Though irksome, I confess, to toil
To catch Dame Fortune’s niggard smile,
When she so prodigal can be
To men of less desert than me,
Throwing her bounties in their lap,
Almost without their asking—slap!
’Twas but to-day that I was told,
With truth I’ll vouch, a pan of gold
Seen by a neighbour in a dream—