A _Rich Man_ and a _Poor_.
As a Poor Fellow was Beating the Hoof upon the High-way, and Trudging on
Merrily in a Bitter Cold Morning, with never a Rag to his Tayl: A Spark
that was Warm Clad, and Well Mounted, (but his Teeth Chattering in his
Head yet,) call’d to this _Tatter-de-Mallion_, and ask’d him how he was
able to endure this Terrible Weather? Why, says t’other, how does your
_Face_ endure it? My _Face_ is us’d to’t, says the Cavalier. And so is my
Body, says the other; so that I am all Face. And then (says the Poor Cur)
there’s another thing yet besides; I have all the Cloaths I have in the
World upon my Back, and that’s enough to keep me Warm: Do but you put on
all yours too, and you shall be Warm as well as I.
The MORAL.
_By Custom, Practice and Patience, all Difficulties and Hardships,
whether of Body or of Fortune, are made Easie to us. Mankind is all of
a Make, and if we shrink in the Wetting, as we say, or in any Trial of
Distress or Persecution, ’tis our own Fault; for we are Consulting our
Skins, and our Affections, when we should rather be attending to the
Motions of our Reason, which would give us better Counsel._