But, here at Court, where every one is pleased
With every thing, my amiability
Would go for naught; so I have coined myself
A disposition foreign to my own,
In hopes my clumsy boorish insolence
Might please you by its very novelty;
And prove, perchance, a not unwelcome foil
To Zoram’s mockery of cultured taste,
And Chrysal’s chronic insincerity!
I’m rough and honest, frank—outspoken—blunt.