If happiness on wealth were built,
Rich rogues might comfort find in guilt;
As grows the miser’s hoarded store,
His fears, his wants, increase the more. 
Think, Gay, (what ne’er may be the case,)
Should fortune take you into grace,
Would that your happiness augment? 
What can she give beyond content?
30
Suppose yourself a wealthy heir,
With a vast annual income clear! 
In all the affluence you possess,
You might not feel one care the less. 
Might you not then (like others) find
With change of fortune, change of mind? 
Perhaps, profuse beyond all rule,
You might start out a glaring fool;
Your luxury might break all bounds;
Plate, table, horses, stewards, hounds,
40
Might swell your debts:  then, lust of play
No regal income can defray. 
Sunk is all credit, writs assail,
And doom your future life to jail. 
Or were you dignified with power,
Would that avert one pensive hour? 
You might give avarice its swing,
Defraud a nation, blind a king: 
Then, from the hirelings in your cause,
Though daily fed with false applause,
50
Could it a real joy impart? 
Great guilt knew never joy at heart. 
Is happiness your point in view? 
(I mean the intrinsic and the true)
She nor in camps or courts resides,
Nor in the humble cottage hides;
Yet found alike in every sphere;
Who finds content, will find her there. 
O’erspent with toil, beneath the shade,
A peasant rested on his spade.
60
‘Good gods!’ he cries, ’’tis hard to bear
This load of life from year to year. 
Soon as the morning streaks the skies,
Industrious labour bids me rise;
With sweat I earn my homely fare,
And every day renews my care.’ 
Jove heard the discontented strain,
And thus rebuked the murmuring swain: 
’Speak out your wants then, honest friend: 
Unjust complaints the gods offend.
70
If you repine at partial fate,
Instruct me what could mend your state. 
Mankind in every station see. 
What wish you?  Tell me what you’d be.’ 
So said, upborne upon a cloud,
The clown surveyed the anxious crowd. 
‘Yon face of care,’ says Jove, ’behold,
His bulky bags are filled with gold. 
See with what joy he counts it o’er! 
That sum to-day hath swelled his store.’
80
‘Were I that man,’ the peasant cried,
‘What blessing could I ask beside?’
‘Hold,’ says the god; ’first learn to know
True happiness from outward show. 
This optic glass of intuition——­
Here, take it, view his true condition.’ 
He looked, and saw the miser’s breast,
A troubled ocean, ne’er at rest;
Want ever stares him in the face,
And fear anticipates disgrace: 
90
With conscious guilt he saw him start;
Extortion gnaws his throbbing heart;
And never, or in thought or dream,
His breast admits one happy gleam. 
‘May Jove,’ he cries, ’reject