Classic Poem

" I KNOW a path that's pleasant and secure,
But most uneasy for a poor man's tread.
Without accepting my advice, the rich
May find a speedy way to seize the keep
And overthrow the stronghold to its base
And open thus all doors to quick access
And capture all the guardians of the place,
Who'd not defend themselves or say one word.
The path's called Giving Much, and it was made
By Mad Largesse, who's ruined many a man.
Too well I know the path, for I have been
A pilgrim on it now more than a year
And but two days ago returned from it.
Leave Largesse on the right — turn to the left —
And without much sole leather wear you'll come,
Within a bow shot, by a well-trod road,
To where you'll see the walls begin to quake
And portals open wide all by themselves
And towers and turrets tremble to the ground,
No matter how secure they were before.
The gates could not be forced more easily
If all their guardians were lying dead.
Approached by this path, not a castle wall
Is harder to subdue than cake to cut.
A weaker force will serve to do the deed
Than needed Charles the Great to conquer Maine.
" No poor man enters by this path, I know;
Alone he can but fail, and with a guide
Who's indigent also he'll not succeed.
But one who has a guide who has been there,
As I have been, will soon the pathway learn
As well as I, than whom none better know.
Now, if you like, you soon shall take this way,
For 'tis not hard if you the riches have
To stand a big expense; but as for me
The very entrance to the path's denied
By Poverty, who bars the way. I spent
Whate'er I had, what I from others got;
I cheated all my creditors, for I
Could not have paid a single one of them
Though I had been condemned to drown or hang.
Then Poverty proclaimed, " Come here no more
If you have not the wherewithal to spend."
" 'Twill be most difficult to enter there
If Wealth conduct you not; and she'll refuse
To leave with you when she has got you in.
Though she accompany you on the way,
She will desert you ere you can return.
Be sure of this: if you make entry thus
You'll make your exit neither day nor night
Except dragged forth by Poverty's stern hand,
Which has full many a lover sorely grieved.
Mad Largesse stays within, whose only thought
Is fixed on play and other wild expense
As if she drew upon barnfuls of cash
Without account or reckoning of cost —
Without a thought of how short time her hoard might last. "