You've satisfied me vastly well,
Of all the residents in hell;
Yet must I ask one question more,
Pray have you many of the poor?
Poor, cried the devil, who are they?
There's none so call'd, who come this way.

This answer gave fresh wonder birth,
The poor, says I, are those on earth,
Who, tho' profusion's round them hurl'd,
Have no possessions in the world.

Such do you mean, the devil said,
Sarcastic look'd, and shook his head;
Tho' here we have of all mankind,
None such in our records I find;
Nor wonder they ne'er see this place,
" For 'tis possessions damn your race! "