Who, too wild for utility, wander’d so far
That his passion for peace kept him always at war:
Though equal to most things, for all things unfit;
Too pert for a statesman, too coarse for a wit:
Untrue to the Talents, uncouth to the Regent,
And fond of all changes, howe’er inexpedient:—
So ’twas always his fate to find fault out of season,
Most strongly to speak, and most weakly to reason.
Here C—tl—r—gh lies, with a mind like the mint,
Exhaustless and sterling the stores that were in’t.