Classic Poem

Vile Instrument! but useful still;
A Damp to Joy, a Guard from Ill;
Scorn'd by the Bold; by Sages priz'd ;
But, when most friendly , most despis'd .
As Monarchs , in Intrigues of State,
Are forc'd to trust the Knaves they hate,
And, when the dirty Work is o'er,
Regard the sordid Tools no more;
E'en so, when thou hast serv'd our Turn,
We cast thee forth, or let thee burn .