FORTUNE

I come not here (you gods) to plead the Right By which Antiquity assigned my Deity, Though no peculiarstation' amongst the Stars, Yet general power to rule their influence, Or boast the Title of Omnipotent, Ascribed me then, by which I rivaled Jove, Since you have canceled all those old records; But confident in my good cause and merit, Claim a succession in the vacant Orb. For since Astraa fled to heaven, I fit Her Deputy on Earth, I hold her scales And weigh men's Fates out, who have made me blind, Because themselves want eyes to fee my causes, Call me inconstant, cause my works surpass The shallow fathom of their human reason; Yet here, Like blinded Justice, I dispense With nay impartial hands, their constant lots, And if desertless, impious men engross My best rewards, the fault is yours, you gods, That scant your graces to mortality, And niggards of your good, scarce spare the world One virtuous, for a thousand wicked men. It is no error to confer dignity, But to bestow it on a vicious man; I gave the dignity, but you made the vice, Make you men good, and I'll make good men happy That Plutus is refused, dismays me not, He is my Drudge, and the external pomp, In which he decks the World, proceeds from me, Not him; Like Harmony, that not resides In strings, or notes, but in the hand and voice. The revolutions of Empires, States, Sceptres, and Crowns, are but my game and sport, Which as they hang on the events of War, So those depend upon my turning wheel. You warlike Squadrons, who in battles joined, Dispute the Right of Kings, which I decide, Present the model of that martial frame, By which, when Crowns are staked, I rule the game.