This sort of adoration of the real is but a heightening of the beau ideal.

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky.

Let no man grumble when his friends fall off, As they will do like leaves at the first breeze; When your affairs come round, one way or t'other, Go to the coffee house, and take another.

Champagne with its foaming whirls/As white as Cleopatra's pearls.

None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.

So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart.

Nothing can confound a wise man more than laughter from a dunce.