It is the precious province of true thought-- Of the divine creations of the mind-- To live unwearied in a heart overwrought By busy intercourse with town--Mankind:
Poor merchant I! whom the dull world's trade-wind Blows ever onward on a steady sea,
Feel oftentimes, mid murkiest men, refined By visitants that come alone to me.
Perchance I class not with the worldly wise;
But mine is not the spirit that avoids,
Mid temporal dealings, these communions strange,
Albeit "disgracious to the city's eyes," Often I meet rare Trinculo at Lloyd's!
And Hamlet sweetly walks with me on 'Change!
