Vanish’d - and he sank grov’lling on the ground.
Still some conceit will Benbow’s mind inflate,
Poor as he is, - ’tis pleasant to relate
The joys he once possess’d - it soothes his present state.
Seated with some gray beadsman, he regrets
His former feasting, though it swell’d his debts;
Topers once famed, his friends in earlier days,
Well he describes, and thinks description praise:
Each hero’s worth with much delight he paints;
Martyrs they were, and he would make them saints.