Let fops and fools the sons of toil deride,
On false pretensions brainless dunces live;
Let carpet heroes strut with parlor pride,
Supreme in all that indolence can give,
But be not like them, and pray envy not
These fancy tom-tit burlesques of mankind,
The witless snobs in idleness who rot,
Hermaphrodite ’twixt vanity and mind.
O son of toil, be proud, look up, arise,
And disregard opinion’s hollow test,