Lo where the stage, the poor, degraded stage, Holds its warped mirror to a gaping age.

Through life's dark road his sordid way he wends, An incarnation of fat dividends.

Behold! in Liberty's unclouded blaze We lift our heads, a race of other days.

Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doctors' spite; Thy clouds all other clouds dispel, And lap me in delight.