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Or all the barbarous Middle Ages, that
Which is most barbarous is the middle age to?
Of man; it is I really scarce know what;

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But when we hover between fool and sage,
And don't know justly what we would be at,
A period something like a printed page,
Black letter upon foolscap, while our hair
Grows grizzled, and we are not what we were;-



Too old for youth, too young, at thirty-five,
To herd with boys, or hoard with good threescore,-
I wonder people should be left alive; bo obada os
But since they are, that epoch is a bore:Collab
Love lingers still, although 'twere late to wive;
And as for other love, the illusion's o'er;

And money, that most pure imagination,
Gleams only through the dawn of its creation.

III. "

Oh Gold! Why call we misers miserable?
Theirs is the' pleasure that can never pall;
Theirs is the best bower-anchor, the chain cable
Which holds fast other pleasures great and small.
Ye who but see the saving man at table,

And scorn his temperate board, as none at all,
And wonder how the wealthy can be sparing,
Know not what visions spring from each cheese-paring.


Love or lust makes man sick, and wine much sicker;
Ambition rends, and gaming gains a loss;
But making money, slowly first, then quicker,

And adding still a little through each cross
(Which will come over things) beats love or liquor,
The gamester's counter, or the statesman's dross.
Oh Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper,

Which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour.

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Who hold the balance of the world? Who reign
O'er Congress, whether royalist or liberal?
Who rouse the shirtless patriots of Spain?.
(That make old Europe's journals squeak and
gibber all.)


Who keep the world, both old and new, in pain coT
Or pleasure? Who make politics run glibber all?
The shade of Bonaparte's noble daring? huw!
Jew Rothschild, and his fellow Christian Baringut.
Ilija gm 970

༑(,·:‚*}v『} VI.

Those, and the truly liberal Lafitte,"

Are the true lords of Europe. Every loan

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Is not a merely speculative hit, duo, vito com to

But seats a nation or upsets a throne. Republics also get involved a bit;

Columbia's stock hath holders not unknown

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On 'Change; and even thy silver soil, Peru, re
Must get itself discounted by a Jew, gelul di

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Why call the miser miserable ąsed it more bhi a
I said before the frugal life is his, if not se

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Which in a saint or cynic ever was


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The theme of praise: a hermit would not miss Canonization for the self-same cause,

And wherefore blame gaunt wealth's austerities 2 Because, you'll say, nought calls for such a trial;Then there's more merit in his self-denial. 1


He is your only poet;-passion, pure

And sparkling on from heap to heap, displays, Possess'd, the ore, of which mere hopes allure Nations athwart the deep the golden rays Flash up in ingots from the mine obscure;

On him the diamond pours its brilliant blaze; While the mild emerald's beam shades down the dies Of other stones, to soothe the miser's eyes.


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The lands on either side are his the ship
From Ceylon, Inde, or far Cathay,
or far Cathay, unloads
For him the fragrant produce of each trip;
Beneath his cars of Ceres groan the roads,
And the vine blushes like Aurora's lip;

His very cellars might be kings' abodes;
While he, despising every sensual call,
Commands the intellectual lord of all,

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Perhaps he hath great projects in his mind,
To build a college, or to found a race,
A hospital, a church, and leave behind

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Some dome surmounted by his meagre face:/ Perhaps he fain would liberate mankind

Even with the very ore which makes them base; Perhaps he would be wealthiest of his nation, Or, revel in the joys of calculation. I


But whether all, or each, or none of these! #
May be the hoarder's principle of action, ́
The fool will call such mania a disease:→→


What is his own? Go-look at each transaction, Wars, revels, loves-do these bring men more ease Than the mere plodding through each « vulgar fraction? »

Or do they benefit mankind? Lean Miser!

Let spendthrifts' heirs inquire of yours-who's wiser ?


# alium sili How beauteous are rouleaus! how charming chests Containing ingots, bags of dollars, coins

(Not of old Victors, all whose heads and crests Weigh not the thin ore where their visage shines, But) of fine unclipt gold, where dully rests


Some likeness, which the glittering cirque confines, Of modern, reigning, sterling, stupid stamp:Yes! ready money is Aladdin's lamp.

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<< Is Heaven, and Heaven is Love: so sings the

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Which it were rather difficult to prove, geen (A thing with poetry in general hard.) Perhaps there may be something in the grove,

At least it rhymes to « Love; but I'm prepared To doubt (no less than landlords of their rental); < If « courts » and « camps » be quite so sentimental..

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