T. Since, in plain terms, ’tis poverty you fear,
And riches are your aim, attend and hear. 
Suppose a thrush or other dainty placed
At your disposal, for your private taste,
Speed it to some great house, all gems and gold,
Where means are ample, and their master old: 
Your choicest apples, ripe and full of juice,
And whatsoe’er your garden may produce,
Before they’re offered at the Lares’ shrine,
Give them to your rich friend, as more divine: 
Be he a branded slave, forsworn, distained
With brother’s blood, in short, a rogue ingrained,
Yet walk, if asked, beside him when you meet,
And (pray mind this) between him and the street.

U. What, give a slave the wall? in happier days,
At Troy, for instance, these were not my ways: 
Then with the best I matched myself.

T. Indeed?  I’m sorry:  then you’ll always be in need.

U. Well, well, my heart shall bear it; ’tis inured
To dire adventure, and has worse endured. 
Go on, most worthy augur, and unfold
The arts whereby to pile up heaps of gold.

T. Well, I have told you, and I tell you still: 
Lay steady siege to a rich dotard’s will;
Nor, should a fish or two gnaw round the bait,
And ’scape the hook, lose heart and give up straight. 
A suit at law comes on:  suppose you find
One party’s old and childless, never mind
Though law with him’s a weapon to oppress
An upright neighbour, take his part no less: 
But spurn the juster cause and purer life,
If burdened with a child or teeming wife. 
“Good Quintus,” say, or “Publius” (nought endears
A speaker more than this to slavish ears),
“Your worth has raised you up a friend at court;
I know the law, and can a cause support;
I’d sooner lose an eye than aught should hurt,
In purse or name, a man of your desert: 
Just leave the whole to me:  I’ll do my best
To make you no man’s victim, no man’s jest.” 
Bid him go home and nurse himself, while you
Act as his counsel and his agent too;
Hold on unflinching, never bate a jot,
Be it for wet or dry, for cold or hot,
Though “Sirius split dumb statues up,” or though
Fat Furius “spatter the bleak Alps with snow.” 
“What steady nerve!” some bystander will cry,
Nudging a friend; “what zeal! what energy! 
What rare devotion!” ay, the game goes well;
In flow the tunnies, and your fish-ponds swell. 
Another plan:  suppose a man of wealth
Has but one son, and that in weakly health;
Creep round the father, lest the court you pay
To childless widowers your game betray,
That he may put you second, and, in case
The poor youth die, insert you in his place,
And so you get the whole:  a throw like this,
Discreetly hazarded, will seldom miss. 
If offered by your friend his will to read,
Decline it with a “Thank you! no, indeed!”
Yet steal a side-long glance as you decline
At the first parchment and the second line,
Just to discover if he leaves you heir
All by yourself, or others have a share. 
A constable turned notary oft will cheat
Your raven of the cheese he thought to eat;
And sly Nasica will become, you’ll see,
Coranus’ joke, but not his legatee.