Take the right course, by nature blind.
Th’ ambitious man directs his way
Thro’ title, honours, night and day:
The miser hovers o’er his gold,
With heaps on heaps, each farthing told:
But sooner or later they’ll perceive,
These trifling things the mind bereave
Of ev’ry solid, dear delight,
The soul o’erspread with gloom of night;
That envied titles, honours, fame,