BUT let us state the Case another way:
Were Poverty so hideous as they say,
'Tis nobler chearfully to bear our Fate,
Than murmur and repine beneath its Weight.
That Man deserves the Praise of human Kind,
Who bears ill Fortune with a Christian Mind:
How does his great heroic Soul aspire
Above that sordid Wealth the rest admire!
His nobler Thoughts are fix'd on Things above;
His faithful Eyes survey the GOD of Love
Hold forth the heav'nly Prize, which makes him run
His mortal Race, to gain th'immortal Crown.
Not all the Snares a crafty Dev'l can lay,
Can intercept, or daunt him in his Way.
Not all the scornful Insults of the Proud,
Not all the Censures of the grov'ling Croud,
Not Poverty, in all her Terrors drest,
Can shake the solid Quiet of his Breast:
Unmov'd he stands against the worst of Foes,
And mocks the Darts, which adverse Fortune throws,
Calm and compos'd, amidst or Ease or Pain;
And finds Content, which others seek in vain.