Page:Works of Voltaire Volume 36.djvu/113

Rh Through all the nations of the world Fierce satire has her vengeance hurled: Has been to Jews and Christians known, But she in Paris holds her throne. A crowd of idlers every night, Of idlers called the world polite, Wandering about the town is seen, Still followed by that fiend, the spleen. There, jilted baggages abound, And jades of quality are found; Who nothings like mere parrots say; Who ogle fools, and cheat at play. Amongst them sparks we likewise find, Who seem much more of womankind. Their heads with trifles are well filled; In trifles they are deeply skilled. With forward air, and voices pert, They sing and dance, behave alert; And if some man with sense endued, Should in their presence be so rude To speak like one who books has read, And show he wears a learned head, With anger fired they on him fall, He's persecuted by them all. Envy, each drone to combat brings, Against the bee they point their stings; Of ministers, and monarchs still, Inferior mortals will speak ill; From Cæsar to our Louis down, Name we one king of high renown, From famed Mæcenas' days produce A favorite who could escape abuse.