Doth mar thy course, nor dost thou now retain
One sign of human reason save alone,
When for a moment with thy might and main
Thou cling’st unto some lamp-post with a groan,
Without a hat, and luckily, unseen, unknown.
His steps shake on the path—the hat he wears
Is but a sport for him—he doth arise,
And kick it from him; the vile nap it bears,
For four and ninepence, he doth all despise,
Spurning it from the pavement towards the skies,