But now, in pensive Mood, with Head down cast,
His Eyes transfix'd as tho' they look'd their last;
One Hand his open Bosom lightly held,
And one an empty Breeches Pocket fill'd.
His Dowlas Shirt no Stock or Cravat bore,
And on his Head, no Hat or Wig he wore;
But a once black shag Cap, surcharg'd with Sweat;
His Collar, here a Hole, and there a Pleat;
Both grown alike in Colour, that—alack!
This, neither now was White, nor that was Black;