Hedges set round clients' farmsYour avarice tramples; see, the outcasts fly,Wife and husband, in their armsTheir fathers' gods, their squalid family.Yet no hall that wealth e'er plann'dWaits you more surely than the wider roomTraced by Death's yet greedier hand.Why strain so far? you cannot leap the tomb.Earth removes the impartial sodAlike for beggar and for monarch's child:Nor the slave of Hell's dark godConvey'd Prometheus back, with bribe beguiled.Pelops he and Pelops' sireHolds, spite of pride, in close captivity;Beggars, who of labour tire,Call'd or uncall'd, he hears and sets them free.Bacchus I saw in mountain gladesRetired (believe it, after years!)Teaching his strains to Dryad maids,While goat-hoof'd satyrs prick'd their ears.