And plenty makes us poor.
Want is a bitter and a hateful good, Because its virtues are not understood; Yet many things, impossible to thought, Have been by need to full perfection brought. The daring of the soul proceeds from thence, Sharpness of wit, and active diligence; Prudence at once, and fortitude it gives; And, if in patience taken, mends our lives.
Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
If we from wealth to poverty descend, Want gives to know the flatterer from the friend.
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