“ And still with Vice its gilded Value grows.
The wicked Magick of its fatal Charms,
Makes War of Peace, and Friendships rise in Arms.
Its dire Infection, like the tainting Itch,
Spreads round th' Ambition of becoming rich.
Great is its Worth, but greater its Abuse,
Yet Men its Service with these Evils chuse.
To make it sacred, Princes, in their Coin,
The Signs of Empire and their Image joyn:
For 'tis profane on any worthless thing,
To prostitute the Arms and Figure of a King.
Thou art a Charles — He was a gen'rous Man,
But much he suffer'd ere his Reign began. ”

“ POEM on a New Uncommon Subject, cannot better, recommend itself to the Publick, than under the Protection of One, whose happy Genius at improving of great and useful Schemes, distinguishes him among Mankind; and makes him as much the Object of their Praise, as he is the Promoter of their Fortunes and Interest. This is so much your Character, that it is as impossible for You to escape this Dedication, as it is for you to conceal your Virtues. No Body can be a Stranger to them, and least of all Men a Poet. ”

“ And when no Gold a Poet's Pocket lines,
'Tis criminal to taste the Juice of Vines.
All Money chang'd, the less by changing grows,
And throʻ our Hands with silent wastings flows,
Like Mercury, when pour'd upon the Floor,
Each Stroke divides and multiplies the Store. ”