The wealthy young fools I use as my tools,
Like a jolly good harden'd old sinner.
Whenever I see a fool suited for me,
In a trice at his side I appear,
And ne'er loose my hold, till by feeding or gold,
He has paid for my wants rather dear.
If he chance aught to speak, though stupid and weak,
Straightway it is praised to the skies;
His wit I applaud, treat him as my lord,
Win his heart by a good set of lies.