Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear, He gained from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend.

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.

Now as the Paradisiacal pleasures of the Mahometans consist in playing upon the flute and lying with Houris, be mine to read eternal new romances of Marivaux and Crebillon.

I shall be but a shrimp of an author.

And hie him home, at evening's close, To sweet repast and calm repose.