“A milksop, jilted by his lass, or wandering in his wits,
Might murmur, ‘Stiff, O dairy-man, in a myriad of fits!’
“A limner by photography dead-beat in competition,
Thus grumbled, ‘No, it is opposed; art sees trade’s opposition!’
“A nonsense-loving nephew might his soldier-uncle dun
With ‘Now stop, major-general, are negro jam-pots won?’
“A supercilious grocer, if inclined that way, might snub
A child with ‘But regusa store, babe, rots a sugar-tub.’
“Thy spectre, Alexander, is a fortress, cried Hephaestion.
Great A. said, ‘No, it’s a bar of gold, a bad log for a bastion!’