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Jonathan Swift - On Gold
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All-ruling tyrant of the earth,
To vilest slaves I owe my birth,
How is the greatest monarch blest,
When in my gaudy livery drest!
No haughty nymph has power to run
From me; or my embraces shun.
Stabb`d to the heart, condemn`d to flame,
My constancy is still the same.
The favourite messenger of Jove,
And Lemnian god, consulting strove
To make me glorious to the sight
Of mortals, and the gods` delight.
Soon would their altar`s flame expire
If I refused to lend them fire.


  By fate exalted high in place,
  Lo, here I stand with double face:
  Superior none on earth I find;
  But see below me all mankind
  Yet, as it oft attends the great,
  I almost sink with my own weight.


At every motion undertook,
The vulgar all consult my look.
I sometimes give advice in writing,
But never of my own inditing.
  I am a courtier in my way;
For those who raised me, I betray;
And some give out that I entice
To lust, to luxury, and dice.
Who punishments on me inflict,
Because they find their pockets pickt.
  By riding post, I lose my health,
And only to get others wealth.
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