Book XII: The Miser and the Monkey

A man amass'd. The thing, we know,Doth often to a frenzy grow.No thought had he but of his minted gold--Stuff void of worth when unemploy'd, I hold.Now, that this treasure might the safer be,Our miser's dwelling had the seaAs guard on every side from every thief.With pleasure, very small in my belief,But very great in his, he thereUpon his hoard bestow'd his care.No respite came of everlastingRecounting, calculating, casting;For some mistake would always comeTo mar and spoil the total sum.A monkey there, of goodly size,--And than his lord, I think, more wise,--Some doubloons from the window threw,And render'd thus the count untrue.The padlock'd room permittedIts owner, when he quitted,To leave his money on the table.One day, bethought this monkey wiseTo make the whole a sacrificeTo Neptune on his throne unstable.I could not well award the prizeBetween the monkey's and the miser's pleasureDerived from that devoted treasure.With some, Don Bertrand, would the honour gain,For reasons it were tedious to explain.One day, then, left alone,That animal, to mischief prone,Coin after coin detach'd,A gold jacobus snatch'd,Or Portuguese doubloon,Or silver ducatoon,Or noble, of the English rose,And flung with all his mightThose discs, which oft exciteThe strongest wishes mortal ever knows.Had he not heard, at last,The turning of his master's key,The money all had pass'dThe same short road to sea;And not a single coin but had been pitch'dInto the gulf by many a wreck enrich'd.

Now, God preserve full many a financierWhose use of wealth may find its likeness here!