The double Bobadill[C] takes Scorn for Awe.
V.
"How noble is his language—never pert—
How grand his sentiments which ne'er run riot!
As when he swore 'by God he'd sell his shirt
To head the poll!' I wonder who would buy it
The skin has passed through such a deal of dirt
In grovelling on to power—such stains now dye it—
So black the long-worn Lion's hide in hue,
You'd swear his very heart had sweated through.