Trust me, Lichfield Swan, you do.
Miss Seward: Ode, didactic, epic, sonnet;
Mr. Hayley, you're divine.
Mr. Hayley: Ma'am, I'll take my oath upon it,
You yourself are all the nine.
Or, in a less good-natured mood, we may perhaps recall with a certain satisfaction Pope's cruel but pathetic picture of the minor log-rollers of his day:—
Next plunged a feeble but a desperate pack,
With each a sickly brother at his back.
Sons of a day! just buoyant on the flood,
Then numbered with the puppies in the mud.