Better build schoolrooms for "the boy,"
Than cells and gibbets for "the man."

I love it, I love it; and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?

Though language forms the preacher,
'Tis "good works" make the man.

Whom do we dub as Gentleman?
The Knave, the fool, the brute --
If they but own full tithe of gold,
and Wear a courtly suit.

Why should we strive, with cynic frown,
To knock their fairy castles down?