Shall see not livid hunger’s face of woe.
No bosom-pang attends the home-laid store,
But rife with loss the food without thy door:
’Tis good to take from hoards, and pain to need
What is far from thee: give the precept heed.
When broach’d or at the lees, no care be thine
To save the cask, but [74]spare the middle wine.
To him the friend that serves thee glad dispense
With bounteous hand the meed of recompense.
Not on a brother’s plighted word rely,