At sixpence per line in each London review?
I’d be a Rothschild! and laugh at the ninnies,
Whose brains such absurd undertakings pursue.
Commerce shall wave her proud flag o’er the ocean,
When the wreath and the minstrel have vanished from hence,
Rhymes may give to the muse their devotion,
But mine is concentred in consols and rents
Of Tempe and Castaly I have no notion
Oh! they give song the importance of sense;
I’d be a Rothschild! with every emotion