Page:Miscellaneous Plays 1.pdf/32

12

A few days since, returning near my home, Upon a narrow path rais'd from a road With mud choak'd up, behind me trampling came, A band of liv'ried rascals at his heels, In all his awkward state, a puff'd-up worldling, And rode me off my way; whilst looking back, He turned his head with a malicious grin At the poor spatter'd wretch, who in the mud Stood showering curses on him.

Ay, 'tis the cursed insolence of wealth That makes the poor man poor. Thou wert unarmed?

I was; or by this hand, poor as I am, I should have spent a brace of bullets on him With much good-will.

Know'st thou the villain's name?

Faith, I'm almost asham'd to tell it thee. Thou know'st him well: he is a rich man now; His name is Hubert.

There lives no blacker villain on the earth