See, yonder melancholy gentleman,
Which, hood-wink'd with his hat, alone doth sit!
Thinke what he thinks, and tell me if you can,
What great affaires troubles his little wit.
He thinks not of the warre 'twixt France and Spaine,
Whether it be for Europe's good or ill,
Nor whether the Empire can itselfe maintaine
Against the Turkish power encroaching still;
Nor what great towne in all the Netherlands,
The States determine to beseige this Spring;
Nor how the Scottish policy now stands,
Nor what becomes of the Irish mutining.
But he doth seriously bethinke him whether
Of the gull'd people he be more esteem'd
For his long cloake or for his great black feather,
By which each gull is now a gallant deem'd;
Or of a journey he deliberates,
To Paris-garden,[122] Cock-pit or the Play;
Or how to steale a dog he meditates,
Or what he shall unto his mistriss say:
Yet with these thoughts he thinks himself most fit
To be of counsell with a king for wit.
[Footnote 122: See note on this under Epigram 43. G.]