As for myself, whom poverty prevents
From being angry at so great expence;
Who, should I ever be inclin'd to rage,
For want of slaves, war with myself must wage;
Must rail, and hear; chastising, be chastis'd:
Be both the tyrant, and the tyranniz'd;
I chuse to labour, rather than to fret:
What's rage in some, in me goes off in sweat.
If times are ill, and things seem never worse;
Men, manners to reclaim, — I take my horse.
One mile reforms 'em, or if aught remain
Unpurg'd, — 'tis but to ride as far again.
Thus on myself in toils I spend my rage:
I pay the fine; and that absolves the age.