THEN in Oblivion's grateful cup I drown
The galling sneer, the supercilious frown,
The strange reserve, the proud affected state
Of upstart knaves grown rich and fools grown great.
No more that abject wretch disturbs my rest
Who meanly overlooks a friend distrest.
Purblind to poverty the Worldling goes,
And scarce sees rags an inch beyond his nose.
But from a croud can single out his grace
And cringe and creep to fools who strut in lace.