And much his anxious breast is swell’d with woe,
That where he goes his badge must with him go.
P. Who then is he? Do I behold aright?
My lofty Merchant in this humble plight! 110
Still has he pride?
F. If common fame be just,
He yet has pride—the pride that licks the dust;
Pride that can stoop, and feed upon the base
And wretched flattery of this humbling place;
Nay, feeds himself! his failing is avow’d: