And pensions Tennyson, while starves a Knowles.
The New Timon, and the Poets.
We know him, out of Shakespeare’s art,
And those fine curses which he spoke;
The old Timon, with his noble heart,
That, strongly loathing, greatly broke.
So died the Old: here comes the New,
Regard him: a familiar face:
I thought we knew him. What! it’s you,
The padded man—that wears the stays—