In this, his father left him store
Of stocks; and he hath bought those eyes!
Yon maiden, whirling in the waltz—
A salamander that doth live
Unscathed in fire—hath too her faults,
But yet her price is—what you’ll give.
And this is Fashion’s magic ring
So envied, sought—where yet the heart,
Stript of its guises, is a thing
That makes poor, simple Virtue start.