The godlike man has nothing to conceal.
His virtue, constitutionally deep,
Has habit’s firmness, and affection’s flame;
Angels, allied, descend to feed the fire;
And Death, which others slays, makes him a god.
And now, Lorenzo! bigot of this world! 1210
Wont to disdain poor bigots caught by Heaven!
Stand by thy scorn, and be reduced to nought:
For what art thou?—Thou boaster! while thy glare,
Thy gaudy grandeur, and mere worldly worth,