I do admire thy vegetables much, But will not buy them. Pray you, pardon me For one short word of friendly obloquy. Is’t possible a being so endowed With music, song, and sun-aspiring thoughts, Can stoop to chaffer idly in the streets, And, for a huckster’s miserable gain, Renounce the urgings of his destiny? Why, man, thine ass should be a Pegasus, A sun-reared charger snorting at the stars, And scattering all the Pleiads at his heels— Thy cart should be an orient-tinted car, Such as Aurora drives into the day, What time the rosy-fingered Hours awake— Thy reins— SANCHO. Lookye, master, I’ve dusted a better jacket than yours before now, so you had best keep a civil tongue in your head. Once for all, will you buy my radishes? APOLLODORUS. No! SANCHO. Then go to the devil and shake yourself! [_Exit._ APOLLODORUS. The foul fiend seize thee and thy cauliflowers! I was indeed a most egregious ass To take this lubber clodpole for a bard, And worship that dull fool. Pythian Apollo! Hear me—O hear! Towards the firmament I gaze with longing eyes; and, in the name Of millions thirsting for poetic draughts, I do beseech thee, send a poet down! Let him descend, e’en as a meteor falls, Rushing at noonday—— [_He is crushed by the fall of the body of_ HAVERILLO. We then find Firmilian wandering among the mountains, and lavishing a superfluity of apostrophe upon the rocks, forests, and cataracts around him. Whatever may be his moral deficiencies, we are constrained to admit that he must have studied the phenomena of nature to considerable purpose at the University of Badajoz, since he explains, in no fewer than twelve pages of blank verse, the glacier theory, entreating his own attention—for no one is with him—to the striated surface of rocks and the forcible displacement of boulders. He then, by way of amusement, works out a question in conic sections. But, notwithstanding these exercitations, he is obviously not happy. He is still as far as ever from his grand object, the thorough appreciation of remorse—for he can assign a distinct moral motive for each atrocity which he has committed. He at last reluctantly arrives at the conclusion that he is not the party destined—