Behold, yon placid, plodding, staid old man,

His still and solemn features closely scan!

In his calm look how wisdom's light is shed,

How the grey hairs, become his honoured head!

Mark how the merchants bow, as he goes by,

How men on 'Change, at his approach draw nigh,

“Highly respected," and esteemed ; 'tis said,

His fame to Afric's farthest shore is spread!

Behold, his house!—if marble speak elsewhere,

“Sermons in stones" are with a vengeance here,

Whate'er the potent will of wealth can do

Or pride can wish, is offered to your view.

Those gay saloons, this banquet hall's array,

This glaring pile in all its pomp survey,

The grandeur strikes—one must not look for taste—

What's gorgeous, cannot always be quite chaste.