With honest scorn the worldling’s cant,
Nor shunn’d a neighbour, though in want.
To all, Whang bore an humble mien,
By all, his contrite spirit’s seen;
Till even they who smil’d at first,
When o’er his head the tempest burst,
Were forc’d, in justice, to declare
His penitence appear’d sincere.
“They trusted, nay, almost believ’d
His loss of character retriev’d:”