The heart that air-blown vanities dilate,
Will medicine say ’tis in its normal state? 
Suppose a man in public chose to ride
With a white lambkin nestling at his side,
Called it his daughter, had it richly clothed,
And did his best to get it well betrothed,
The law would call him madman, and the care
Of him and of his goods would pass elsewhere. 
You offer up your daughter for a lamb;
And are you rational?  Don’t say, I am. 
No; when a man’s a fool, he’s then insane: 
The man that’s guilty, he’s a maniac plain: 
The dupe of bubble glory, war’s grim queen
Has dinned away his senses, clear and clean.

“Cassius and luxury! hunt that game with me;
For spendthrifts are insane, the world shall see. 
Soon as the youngster had received at last
The thousand talents that his sire amassed,
He sent round word to all the sharking clan,
Perfumer, fowler, fruiterer, fisherman,
Velabrum’s refuse, Tuscan Alley’s scum,
To come to him. next morning.  Well, they come. 
First speaks the pimp:  ’Whatever I or these
Possess, is yours:  command it when you please.’ 
Now hear his answer, and admire the mind
That thus could speak, so generous and so kind. 
’You sleep in Umbrian snow-fields, booted o’er
The hips, that I may banquet on a boar;
You scour the sea for fish in winter’s cold,
And I do nought; I don’t deserve this gold: 
Here, take it; you a hundred, you as much,
But you, the spokesman, thrice that sum shall
touch.’

“AEsopus’ son took from his lady dear
A splendid pearl that glittered in her ear,
Then melted it in vinegar, and quaffed
(Such was his boast) a thousand at a draught: 
How say you? had the act been more insane
To fling it in a river or a drain?

“Arrius’ two sons, twin brothers, of a piece
In vice, perverseness, folly, and caprice,
Would lunch off nightingales:  well, what’s their mark? 
Shall it be chalk or charcoal, white or dark?

“To ride a stick, to build a paper house,
Play odd and even, harness mouse and mouse,
If a grown man professed to find delight
In things like these, you’d call him mad outright. 
“Well now, should reason force you to admit
That love is just as childish, every whit;
To own that whimpering at your mistress’ door
Is e’en as weak as building on the floor;
Say, will you put conviction into act,
And, like young Polemo, at once retract;
Take off the signs and trappings of disease,
Your leg-bands, tippets, furs, and muffatees,
As he slipped off his chaplets, when the word
Of sober wisdom all his being stirred?

“Give a cross child an apple:  ‘Take it, pet:’ 
He sulks and will not:  hold it back, he’ll fret. 
Just so the shut-out lover, who debates
And parleys near the door he vows he hates,
In doubt, when sent for, to go back or no,
Though, if not sent for, he’d be sure to go.