Robert Pollok

Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.

Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.

What mighty contests rise from trivial things.

What mighty contests rise from trivial things.

He sat among his bags, and, with a look
Which hell might be ashamed of, drove the poor
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He sat among his bags, and, with a look
Which hell might be ashamed of, drove the poor
Away unalmed; and midst abundance died--
Sorest of evils!--died of utter want.

But when to mischief mortals bend their will,
How soon they find fit instruments of ill.

But when to mischief mortals bend their will,
How soon they find fit instruments of ill.

Get money, money still!
And then let virtue follow, if she will.

Get money, money still!
And then let virtue follow, if she will.