A timid creature, lax of knee and hip,
Whom small disturbance whitens round the lip;
One of those harmless, spectacled machines,
Ignored by waiters when they call for greens,
Whom schoolboys question it their walk transcends
The last advices of maternal friends,
Whom John, obedient to his master’s sign,
Conduct laborious, up to ninety-nine,
While Peter, glistening with luxurious scorn,
Husks his white ivories like an ear of corn;