Lo! one appears, to whom if I should dare To say _farewell_, the lordly man would stare, Would stretch his goodly form some inches higher, And then, without a single word, retire; Or from his state might haply condescend To doubt his memory—“Ha! your name, my friend?” He is the master of these things we see: Those vessels proudly riding by the quay; With all those mountain heaps of coal that lie, For half a county’s wonder and supply. 10 Boats, cables, anchors, all to him pertain— A swimming fortune, all his father’s gain. He was a porter on the quay, and one Proud of his fortune, prouder of his son— Who was ashamed of him, and much distress’d To see his father was no better dress’d. Yet for this parent did the son erect A tomb—’tis whisper’d, he must not expect The like for him, when he shall near it sleep— Where we behold the marble cherubs weep. 20 There are no merchants who with us reside In half his state—no wonder he has pride; Then he parades around that vast estate, As if he spurn’d the slaves that make him great; Speaking in tone so high, as if the ware Was nothing worth—at least not worth his care; Yet should he not these bulky stores contemn, For all his glory he derives from them; And, were it not for that neglected store, This great rich man would be extremely poor. 30 Generous men call him, for he deigns to give; He condescends to say the poor must live. Yet in his seamen not a sign appears That they have much respect, or many fears; With inattention they their patron meet, As if they thought his dignity a cheat; Or of himself as, having much to do With their affairs, he very little knew; As if his ways to them so well were known That they might hear, and bow, and take their own. 40 He might contempt for men so humble feel, But this experience taught him to conceal; For sailors do not to a lord at land As to their captain in submission stand; Nor have mere pomp and pride, of look or speech, Been able yet respect or awe to teach. Guns, when with powder charged, will make a noise, To frighten babes, and be the sport of boys; But, when within men find there’s nothing more, They shout contemptuous at the idle roar. 50 Thus will our lofty man to all appear, With nothing charged that they respect or fear. His Lady, too, to her large purse applies, And all she fancies at the instant buys. How bows the market, when from stall to stall She walks, attended! how respectful all! To her free orders every maid attends, And strangers wonder what the woman spends. There is an auction, and the people, shy, Are loth to bid, and yet desire to buy. 60 Jealous they gaze with mingled hope and fear, Of buying cheaply, and of paying dear. They see the hammer with determined air Seized for despatch, and bid in pure despair! They bid—the hand is quiet as before—