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A haughty, conceited, rash sceptical Elf He dar'd very often -- to think for himself What still was more odd, -- 'twas the fault of his head He made quite a point on't, to do what he said. God let who would argue from morning to night Too seldom gave up when he thought he was right. As proud as the devil he made it a rule Not to fawn on a Villain, or flatter a fool And took too little trouble, not wishing to rise To be civil to those, he was forced to despise. For his family pride he deserved much rebuke He thought himself [[underline]] almost [[/underline]] as good as a Duke Ever grudging the proper respect to afford To the Son of a Dunghill, turn'd into a Lord. His passions were warm, & revengeful his mind He deem'd it his right to restitute in kind. To love, & resentment was equally prone And his freinds, (let the one for the other atone) Alas they were few! his unsociable soul Partook not the joys of the bottle or bowl In vain he was laugh'd at, in vain he was told
