If a man has the tact in the world to get well on, he

Cannot be else than a thorough-paced scamp;

That the “villanous rich” wear a cloak and a mask, all,

And the greater the riches, the greater the rascal.

That the cardinal virtues only endure,

In the atmosphere with the “virtuous poor;”

That nowhere are found the true Christian graces,

Save closely allied to the dirtiest faces.

I shall not contradict this delightful tradition,

But beg—No, I won’t, I will take it—permission,

To state, that I think there’s a word to be said,

From a different text, on the opposite head.

And so I’ll invent, as well as I’m able,

A new home-made, allegorical fable;

And my honest purpose shall be, to see

If the scoundrel rich have not borne a part

In those noble charities, which are

The pride of this jolly old city’s heart.

And if I shall find that the virtuous mob

Have ever been known one farthing to pay,

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