Who when on errands swiftly sent, would spurn
To embarrass you by an o'er-quick return;
And creeps along his course, when under sail,
Like an old fish-boat, beating 'gainst a gale?
Who some day, if his brilliant hopes be sound,
May mount The Great Profession's topmost round,
But who, by undue energy uncursed,
Is climbing very moderately at first?
Pity the devil! for he much endures!
He has his griefs, as well as you have yours.