And he was pain’d to see a rival near:
Yet all the taunts of her contemptuous pride
He bore, nor found his grov’ling spirit tried:
Nay, when she wish’d his parents to traduce,
Fawning he smiled, and justice call’d th’ abuse:
“They taught you nothing: are you not at best,”
Said the proud Dame, “a trifler, and a jest?
Confess you are a fool!” - he bow’d and he confess’d.
This vex’d him much, but could not always last:
The dame is buried, and the trial past.