THO' safe thou think'st thy Treasure lyes,
Conceal'd in Chests from human Eyes,
A Fire may come, and it may be
Bury'd, my Friend, as far from thee.
Thy Vessel that yon Ocean stems,
Loaded with Golden Dust and Gems,
Purchas'd with so much Pains and Cost,
Yet in a Tempest may be lost.
Pimps, Whores, and Bawds, a thankless Crew,
Priests, Pick-pockets, and Lawyers too,
All help by several Ways to drain,
Thanking themselves for what they gain.
The Liberal are secure alone,
For what we frankly give, for ever is our own.
