Classic Poem

An antient sage, which some perhaps think odd,
Asserts that every element's a God;
A God this earth, where vivid verdure grows,
A God, the fire that burns, the breeze that blows;
The silver streams that thro' the vallies stray,
The stars that shine by night, the sun by day.
But I this plain, this certain maxim hold,
" There's no propitious deity but gold:"
Safe in thy house this splendid God inshrine,
And all the blessings of the world are thine;
The grand retinue, and the burnish'd plate,
The pompous villa, and the menial great;
Gold can buy friends, or soften rigid laws,
And biass every witness to your cause:
Spare not expence — give largely, and 'tis odds
But mighty gold will bribe the very Gods.