I’ve neither friend, nor interest, at court.
Quite from St. James’s to thy stairs, Whitehall,
I hardly know a creature, great or small,
Except one maid of honour, worth them all.
I have no business there—Let those attend
The courtly levee, or the courtly friend,
Who more than fate allows them dare to spend.
Or those whose avarice, with much, craves more,
The pension’d beggar, or the titled poor.
These are the thriving breed, the tiny great!