Braggart
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ith careful step to keep his balance upHe reels on warily along the street,Slabbering at mouth and with a staggering stoopMutters an angry look at all he meets.Bumptious and vain and proud he shoulders upAnd would be something if he knew but how;To any man on earth he will not stoopBut cracks of work, of horses and of plough.Proud of the foolish talk, the ale he quaffs,He never heeds the insult loud that laughs:With rosy maid he tries to joke and play,--Who shrugs and nettles deep his pomp and pride.And calls him "drunken beast" and runs away--King to himself and fool to all beside.
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