Crassus looks grave and learned to the Eye,
His stiff Scarf rustles as he passes by;
Mark that wise Shrug, that deep designing Frown!
His sleek broad Beaver, and his glossy Gown!
Oft he stops short, and at the first Alarm,
Doubles his Speed, and swings his careless Arm:
Sometimes he bites his Nails, and rubs his Head,
Nay (what you'll scarce believe) I've seen him read:
Sure Crassus for a deep Divine may pass--
And so, with your Permission, may an Ass.
Ay, and I will aver, with more Pretence,
For one has spoke, and he spoke better Sense.