  SO goes the world. If wealthy, you may call This friend, that brother—friends and brothers all; Though you are worthless, witless, never mind it; You may have been a stable-boy—what then? ’Tis wealth, good sir, makes honourable men. But if you’re poor, Heaven help you! Though your sire Had royal blood within him, and though you Possess the intellect of angels, too, ’Tis all in vain; the world will ne’er inquire On such a score. Why should it take the pains? ’Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains. I once saw a poor devil, keen and clever, Witty and wise; he paid a man a visit, And no one noticed him, and no one ever Gave him a welcome. “Strange,” cried I, “whence it is so!” He walked on this side, then on that, He tried to introduce a social chat; Now here, now there, in vain he tried; Some formally and freezingly replied, and some Said by their silence, “Better stay at home.” A rich man burst the door— As Croesus rich, I’m sure; He could not pride himself upon his wit Nor wisdom, for he had not got a bit: He had what’s better—he had wealth. What a confusion! All stand up erect! These crowd around to ask him of his health; These bow in honest duty and respect; And these arrange a sofa or a chair, And these conduct him there. “Allow me, sir, the honour;” then a bow Down to the earth. Is’t possible to show Meet gratitude for such kind condescension? The poor man hung his head, And to himself he said, “This is indeed beyond my comprehension.” Then looking round, One friendly face he found, And said, “Pray tell me, why is wealth preferred To wisdom?” “That’s a silly question, friend,” Replied the other; “have you never heard, A man may lend his store Of gold or silver ore, But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend?” Sir John Bowring. (From the Russian of Kremnitzer.) |
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