Those seem to me noble words, which in the poet Rabirius2 are ascribed to Mark Antony, when, seeing his fortune deserting him, and nothing left him but the privilege of dying, and even that on the condition of his seizing it promptly, he is made to exclaim:
Whatever I have given, that I still possess
O! how much he might have possessed if he had wished! These are the riches that will abide, and remain steadfast amid all the fickleness of our human lot; and, the greater they become, the less envy they will arouse. Why do you share your wealth as though it were your own? You are but a steward. All these possessions that force you to swell with pride, and, exalting you above mortals, cause you to forget your own frailty; all these that you guard with iron bars and watch under arms; stolen from others at the cost of their blood, you defend at the cost of your own; these for which you launch fleets to dye the sea with blood; these for which you shatter cities to destruction, unconscious of how many arrows of Fortune you may be preparing for you behind your back; these for which you have so many times violated the ties of kinship, and of partnership, while the whole world lies crushed amid the rivalry of two contestants — all these are not your own. They are committed to your safe keeping. and at any moment may find another guardian; your enemy will seize upon them, or the heir who accounts you an enemy. Do you ask how you can make them your own? By bestowing them as gifts! Do you therefore, make the best of your possessions, and, by making them, not only safer, but more honorable, render your own claim to them assured and inviolable. The wealth that you esteem, that, as you think, makes you rich and powerful, is buried under an inglorious name so long as you keep it. It is but house, or slave, or money; when you have given it away, it is a benefit.