Contented in my humble State,
I look with Pity on the Great;
Who only Birth, or Wealth, respect,
And treat true Merit with neglect.
O Pow'r supreme! let me implore
Some Little from thy boundless Store!
Give me a constant, small Support,
Without the Plague of paying Court!
Let none but Fools, who pine to rise,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem