An Unanswerable Apology For The Rich.
Poem by Mary Barber
All--bounteous Heav'n, Castalio cries,
With bended Knees, and lifted Eyes,
When shall I have the Pow'r to bless,
And raise up Merit in Distress?
How do our Hearts deceive us here!
He gets ten thousand Pounds a Year.
With this the pious Youth is able
To build, and plant, and keep a Table.
But then the Poor he must not treat:
Who asks the Wretch, that wants to eat?
Alas! to ease their Woes he wishes;
But cannot live without Ten Dishes:
Tho' Six would serve as well, 'tis true;
But one must live, as others do.
He now feels Wants unknown before,
Wants still increasing with his Store.
The good Castalio must provide
Brocade, and Jewels, for his Bride.
Her Toilet shines with Plate emboss'd;
What Sums her Lace and Linen cost!
The Cloaths that must his Person grace,
Shine with Embroidery, and Lace.
The costly Pride of Persian Looms,
And Guido's Paintings, grace his Rooms.
His Wealth Castalio will not waste;
But must have ev'ry thing in Taste.
He's an OEconomist confest;
But what he buys, must be the best:
For common Use a Set of Plate;
Old China, when he dines in State;
A Coach and Six, to take the Air;
Besides a Chariot, and a Chair.
All these important Calls supply'd,
Calls of Necessity, not Pride,
His Income's regularly spent;
He scarcely saves to pay his Rent.
No Man alive would do more Good,
Or give more freely, if he cou'd.
He grieves, whene'er the Wretched sue;
But what can poor Castalio do?
Would Heav'n but send ten thousand more,
He'd give--just as he did before.
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