I listened at the madman's cell, but it echoed with deluded laughter.
Then I turned me to the rich and noble; I noted the sons of fashion:
A smile was on the languid cheek, that had no commerce with the heart;
Unhallowed thoughts, like fires, gleamed from the window of the eye;
And sorrow lived with those whose pleasures add unto their sins.
His infancy wanted not guilt; his life was continued evil:
He drew in pride with his mother's milk, and a father's lips taught him cursing.
I marked him as the wayward boy; I traced the dissolute youth:
I saw him betray the innocent, and sacrifice affection to his lust;
I saw him the companion of knaves, and a squanderer of ill-got gain;