The man who not a farthing owes,
Looks down with scornful eye on those
Who rise by fraud and cunning;
Though in the Pig-market he stand,
With aspect grave and clear-starched band,
He fears no tradesman’s dunning.
II.
He passes by each shop in town,
Nor hides his face beneath his gown,
No dread his heart invading;
He quaffs the nectar of the Tuns,
Or on a spur-gall’d hackney runs
To London masquerading.
III.
What joy attends a new-paid debt!
Our Manciple[10] I lately met,
Of visage wise and prudent;
I on the nail my battels paid,
The master turn’d away dismay’d,
Hear this each Oxford student!
IV.
With justice and with truth to trace
The grisly features of his face,
Exceeds all man’s recounting;
Suffice, he look’d as grim and sour
As any lion in the Tower,
Or half starved cat-a-mountain.
V.
A phiz so grim you scarce can meet,
In Bedlam, Newgate, or the Fleet,
Dry nurse of faces horrid!
Not Buckhorse fierce, with many a bruise,
Displays such complicated hues
On his undaunted forehead.
VI.