I play at Riches’—to appease
The Clamoring for Gold’—
It kept me from a Thief, I think,
For often, overbold
With Want, and Opportunity’—
I could have done a Sin
And been Myself that easy Thing
An independent Man’—
But often as my lot displays
Too hungry to be borne
I deem Myself what I would be’—
And novel Comforting
My Poverty and I derive’—
We question if the Man’—
Who own’—Esteem the Opulence’—
As We’—Who never Can’—
Should ever these exploring Hands
Chance Sovereign on a Mine’—
Or in the long’—uneven term
To win, become their turn’—
How fitter they will be’—for Want’—
Enlightening so well’—
I know not which, Desire, or Grant’—
Be wholly beautiful’—

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