Tricked out, but modest more than poet's pen
Can paint,—"Cosi viaggino i Ricchi!"[666]
(Excuse a foreign slipslop now and then,
If but to show I've travelled: and what's Travel,
Unless it teaches one to quote and cavil?)
XLVIII.
The London winter and the country summer
Were well nigh over. 'T is perhaps a pity,
When Nature wears the gown that doth become her,
To lose those best months in a sweaty city,