Classic Poem

I.

Young Councel! tho' you Counsel may despise,
Show less Wit, (if you can) to prove more Wise;
Good Sense, good Fame, less than good Fortune prize:

II.

Credit, without Wealth, do not seek, in vain;
For since few can to both at once, attain;
Coin, before Fame, then wisely try to gain:

III.

Since, but for Gain, (my knowing Friend) you know,
Honour wou'd Shame, and Wit wou'd Folly grow;
Since none, for Just or Wise, the Poor allow:

IV.

Whence none now, by a Man's Parts, but his Gains.
Judge of his Store of Merit, or his Brains;
And Wits have but their Labour for their Pains:

V.

Since Poor Men's Sense, the Rich and Poor despise;
They, who good Fame, less than good Fortune prize,
Just without Faith are, without Reason wise:

VI.

Gain Credit, Honour, without Honesty;
Trust without Truth, Fame without Bravery;
So without Honour, live most hon'rably:

VII.

Then your Fate for your Ill Luck, ne'r upbraid,
Since your Fate, your Foe, by your Wit is made,
Which proves your Life's Encumbrance, of its Aid:

VIII.

Since like a false, tho' pleasant Friend, thy Wit,
Which makes thee lazy, for Cares, Pains unfit,
Undoes thee, by the Trust you put in it:

IX.

For Wit is but happy in Thought to be,
While thoughtless Folly fortunate we see;
Thy Happy Wit is then Ill Luck to thee:

X.

Your good Sense wou'd you have the Wise commend?
Ne'r let your Fortune on your Wit depend;
Nor to prove by it your good Sense, pretend:

XI.

Since there's no Proof, or Measure of True Wit,
But by the Money which is gain'd by it;
Then empty Fame, for a Full Pocket quit:

XII.

For good Sense its own Contradiction is;
By which we gain a good Name, good Luck miss:
Since Poor Men's Wisdom, Wits, nay Fools despise:

XIII.

Unhappy thee, thy happy Thoughts will make;
Thy good Sense will thy good Luck from thee take,
And thy sound Judgment will thy Credit crack:

XIV.

The cunning World will your good Sense deny,
Whose Truth shows least its Ingenuity;
Since you, but as a Poet, know to Lie:

XV.

Whose Lies, since they least profitable are
By your Wit, make your want of Sense appear,
Which, but of Living after Life, takes Care:

XVI.

You, to your self your Livelihood deny,
But out of Love of Immortality;
Which, you know you cannot have, till you die:

XVII.

Nor can obtain of this World, to think fit,
To gratifie with Praise your Sense, or Wit,
Till you become insensible of it:

XVIII.

Then he's no Wit, who to be reckon'd one,
Proves himself, by despising Money, none;
Lives scorn'd, to get Esteem, when dead and gone:

XIX.

But if by Lying you wou'd show your Wit,
Lie so, that you may Money get by it;
'Tis Wit, nay Wisdom, Fame for Coin to quit;

XX.

To lie, as Quacks, Divines, or Courtiers try;
Or Lawyers, lie always, but wittily;
You'll lie for Gain, that's Ingenuity.