The beast well-manner’d and the fishes mute.
A widow’d Aunt was there, compell’d by need
The nymph to flatter and her tribe to feed;
Who veiling well her scorn, endured the clog,
Mute as the fish and fawning as the dog.
As years increased, these treasures, her delight,
Arose in value in their owner’s sight:
A miser knows that, view it as he will,
A guinea kept is but a guinea still;
And so he puts it to its proper use,