Wrapped in his sordid visions of vast wealth.

Who sits there thoughtless, querulous, obese,

This overpampered piece of broken-health,

The entire service tries its best to please

Frowns at the fawning waiter standing near.

Nervously he mops his pimply pink bald head,

Great God! if creatures like this money-fool,

Who hold the service of mankind so cheap,

Over the people must forever rule,

Driving them at their will like helpless sheep—

Then let proud mothers cease from giving birth;