That selfish, heartless, cold machine, Call'd in the city — a warm man.
At length the ship came, and Tom's friend went on shore, To Maria in sorrow he hied; This live automaton, who seem'd To move by clock-work, ever keen To live upon the saving plan ; Had soon the honour to be deem'd And told her that Tom 6he would never see more, Who rested on Ocean's dark tide.  That selfish, heartless, cold machine, Call'd in the city — a warm man.  Of her senses bereft, see Maria now stray, Her hair streaming loose in the wind; Eager, asking the sailors, why Tom keeps A bank director once, who dwelt at Chig- well, Prim to a turtle-feast invited; And as the reader knows the prig well, I need not say he went delighted; For great men, when they let you slice their away, And why Tom to Maria's unkind.