And the farmer, mechanic, and merchant I own,
Yet oft I am greatest when by myself seen,
And increase by the hundred when left quite alone.
I assist in all pomp, and in games have no mate,
Though too often I sink into mourning and gloom;
And you mortals I help to make matchless and great,
Though I’m claimed by the worm and consigned to the tomb.
And now if you cannot yet tell me what’s hid,
If you look up the chimney the riddle is broke;
But be quick, my good readers, and do as I bid,