Even if for a decade that high rich man
Did not his business plough again
By leaving his many a big furrow
Of investments away to fallow;
He shall never in this life have
Any lack and want, nor shall crave
And beg he for ordinary food and meat
That his everyday portion he can duly meet,
Seeing by the almighty virtue of
His billions--a more than enough
Substance that has been tucked away for
Many years to come--succour
Of the soul there is for his family
And him: from poverty they're free.





Howbeit this other low indigent fellow,
Who does his cherished trade follow
iIn detail and with diligence daily--
Praying for favour divine early--
Is still like pigs wallowing in penury,
And having no house nor a Miss to marry.
Though he's a plumber that slumbers nay; thanks
Not at all to bad economy that betimes ranks
And puts him amongst the honourable poor,
Who're seeking noble relief from door to door,
Living an inclement life devoid of comforts.
Though working as a ******; yet his efforts
And daily striving are all but a waste,
An one that reckons as no pleasant taste.