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In some things be not anxious to inquire:

Far better is it oft to leave them hid.

I know not how to answer to these things.

When good men by the base

Are overcome in strife,

What city could endure such deeds as this?

No one, I trow; yet take good heed to this,

Lest it be better, e'en by godless deeds,

To triumph over foes than as a slave

To yield obedience.

Cease thou. Enough for me the name of son

Of such a father, if indeed I'm his:

And if I be not, small the injury;

Repute oft triumphs o'er the truth itself.

The bastard is as strong as lawful sons;

Goodness still claims a rank legitimate.

Riches gain friends, gain honours,—further still,

Gain highest sovereignty for those who sit

In low estate. The rich have no men foes;

And if they have, these still conceal their hate.

A wondrous power has wealth to wind its way

Or on plain ground, or heights that none may tread,

Where one that's poor, although 'twere close at hand

Would fail to gain the thing his heart desires.

The form unsightly and of no esteem

It makes both wise of speech and fair to see:

It only has the power of joy or grief,

It only knows the art of hiding ill.