A Few Thoughts on Lotteries

A Lottery, like a magic spell, All ranks of men bewitches, Whose beating bosoms vainly swell With hopes of sudden riches.

With hopes to gain ten thousand pound, How many post to ruin, And for an empty, airy sound, Contrive their own undoing!

Those on whom wealth her stores has shed, May freely bear their crosses; But they who earn their daily bread, Oft sink beneath their losses.

'Tis strange, so many fools we find By tickets thus deluded, And, by a trifling turn of mind, From life's best bliss excluded.

For life's best blessing, calm content, Attends no more his slumbers, Who dreams of profit cent. per cent. And sets his heart on numbers.

Thro' all life's various stages, care Our peace will oft disquiet, Life a free-gift it comes, we ne'er Need be in haste to buy it.

He who intent on shadowy schemes, By them is deeply bubbled, Deserves to wake from golden dreams With disappointment doubled.

Unmov'd by Fortune's fickle wheel, The wise man chance despises, And prudence courts with fervent zeal— She gives the highest prizes.