Let this, be your measureless plaint,
The misery of wealth, get a halo, and preach,
In the garb, of a modern Saint."
Again he lifted his silk top hat,
And bowing an adieu to me,
He vanished away, with a lordly crawl,
In the trunk, of the nearest tree,
And thus, were my mediæval hopes
Of wealth, by a caustic blow,
Dispersed, and a lesson of evil taught,