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!