Love is maintain'd by wealth: when all is spent, Adversity then breeds the discontent.
Let wealth come in by comely thrift, And not by any sordid shift; 'T is haste Makes waste; Extremes have still their fault. Who gripes too hard the dry and slipp'ry sand, Holds none at all, or little, in his hand.
Wealth cannot make a life, but Love.
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