Classic Poem

When you had but one thousand you then did appear
So profuse that we asked God to give
You a fortune to spend; and within half a year
Four legacies raised it to five.

But you, as though nothing were left you at all,
So miserly now have become
That but once in a year your companions you call
To a dinner with you at your home.

We are seven good men, each an old trusty friend,
But the choicest repast that you offer
Costs you but a few shillings and on us you spend
The most doubtful coins in your coffer.

What boon shall we beg for you, generous sir?
You've got five, so we'll ask God for fifty.
And if in reply He should fifty confer,
You will soon starve to death, Master Thrifty.