Where, by his skates, his herrings, and his soles,
He lived, nor dream’d of Corporation-Doles;
But toiling saved, and saving, never ceased
Till he had box’d up twelvescore pounds at least: 
He knew not money’s power, but judged it best
Safe in his trunk to let his treasure rest;
Yet to a friend complain’d:  “Sad charge, to keep
So many pounds; and then I cannot sleep:” 
“Then put it out,” replied the friend:  —­“What, give
My money up? why then I could not live:” 
“Nay, but for interest place it in his hands
Who’ll give you mortgage on his house or lands.” 
“Oh but,” said Daniel, “that’s a dangerous plan;
He may be robb’d like any other man:” 
“Still he is bound, and you may be at rest,
More safe the money than within your chest;
And you’ll receive, from all deductions clear,
Five pounds for every hundred, every year.” 
“What good in that?” quoth Daniel, “for ’tis plain,
If part I take, there can but part remain:” 
“What! you, my friend, so skill’d in gainful things,
Have you to learn what Interest money brings?”
“Not so,” said Daniel, “perfectly I know,
He’s the most interest who has most to show.” 
“True! and he’ll show the more the more he lends;
Thus he his weight and consequence extends;
For they who borrow must restore each sum,
And pay for use.  What, Daniel, art thou dumb?”
For much amazed was that good man.—­“Indeed!”
Said he with gladd’ning eye, “will money breed? 
How have I lived ?  I grieve, with all my heart,
For my late knowledge in this precious art:  —
Five pounds for every hundred will he give? 
And then the hundred?—­I begin to live.” —
So he began, and other means he found,
As he went on, to multiply a pound: 
Though blind so long to Interest, all allow
That no man better understands it now: 
Him in our Body-Corporate we chose,
And once among us, he above us rose;
Stepping from post to post, he reach’d the Chair,
And there he now reposes—­that’s the Mayor. 
   But ’tis not he, ’tis not the kinder few,
The mild, the good, who can our peace renew;
A peevish humour swells in every eye,
The warm are angry, and the cool are shy;
There is no more the social board at whist,
The good old partners are with scorn dismiss’d;
No more with dog and lantern comes the maid,
To guide the mistress when the rubber’s play’d;
Sad shifts are made lest ribands blue and green
Should at one table, at one time, be seen: 
On care and merit none will now rely,
’Tis Party sells what party-friends must buy;
The warmest burgess wears a bodger’s coat,
And fashion gains less int’rest than a vote;
Uncheck’d the vintner still his poison vends,
For he too votes, and can command his friends. 
   But this admitted; be it still agreed,
These ill effects from noble cause proceed;
Though like some vile excrescences they be,
The tree they spring from is a sacred tree,