the old cock'd hat, the brown surtout—the same;
his grisly beard just bristling in its might—
'twas four long nights and days from shaving-night;
his unb'd, hoary locks, wild-staring, thatch'd
a head, for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd;
yet, tho' his caustic wit was biting-rude,
his heart was warm, benevolent and good.
o dulness, portion of the truly blest!
calm, shelter'd haven of eternal rest!
thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes
of fortune's por frost, or torrid beams;
if mantling high she fills the golden cup,
The Poets Progress(6/8)