Of his wit And wisdom, you'll cry out when you are bit.
He is a pearl within an oyster-shell, One of the richest of the deep.

And there Is English Peacock, with his mountain fair,-- Turn'd into a Flamingo, that shy bird That gleams in the Indian air.

Have you not heard When a man marries, dies, or turns Hindoo, His best friends hear no more of him.

But you Will see him, and will like him too, I hope, With the milk-white Snowdownian antelope Match'd with this camelopard.

His fine wit Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it; A strain too learned for a shallow age, Too wise for selfish bigots; let his page Which charms the chosen spirits of the time, Fold itself up for the serener clime Of years to come, and find its recompense In that just expectation.