The greatest Gifts that Nature does bestow, br Can't unassisted to Perfection grow: br A scanty Fortune clips the Wings of Fame, br And checks the Progress of a rising Name; br Each dastard Vertue drags a Captive's Chain, br And moves but slowly, for it moves with Pain. br Domestick Cares sit hard upon the Mind, br And cramp those Thoughts which shou'd be unconfin'd; br The Cries of Poverty alarm the Soul, br Abate its Vigour, its Designs controul: br The Stings of Want inflict the Wounds of Death, br And Motion always ceases with the Breath. br The Love of Friends is found a languid Fire, br That glares but faintly, and will soon expire; br Weak is its Force, nor can its Warmth be great, br A feeble Light begets a feeble Heat. br Wealth is the Fuel that must feed the Flame, br It dyes in Rags, and scarce deserves a Name.