On every face derision's smile appear'd.
Yet some less harden'd bosoms heav'd a sigh, }
Like the faint breezes of an evening sky, }
That curl the rippled wave and on its surface die. }
Reproach, familiar to the monarch's ear,
Might move contempt, but ne'er excited fear:
It cross'd his mind, like streams of melted snow, }
That o'er a cavern'd rock's cold surface flow, }
But soften not their stony bed below. }
His haughty bosom with impatience burn'd,
He smiled contemptuous, and in brief return'd--
"What! hast thou then exhausted all thy store
Of sounding words? and is the tempest o'er?
Haste, noble Trollio, fetch my guards, and send
Th' incautious hero to his wiser friend!"

Swift as the word obsequious Trollio speeds,
And to the secret hall the soldiers leads.
The youth, resign'd, bow'd down his thoughtful head,
And calmly silent follow'd where they led.
"Such be the fate of all," the monarch cried,
"Who, born to meanness, swell with worthless pride;
Who, glad with nobler men to be preferr'd,
Rise, by officious guilt, above the vulgar herd,
Obtrude their ready service on the great,
And deem their talents fit to rule a state!
Yes, my brave friends, I meant this recreant fool
But as a means, a momentary tool.
To push my purpose to a readier end,
Then to the dust my worn-out weapon send.--