Heav'n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn'd, / Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman ſcorn'd.

Here Nessim would sit night after night in the winter, dressed in his old rust-coloured abba, staring gravely at Betelgeuse, or hovering over books of calculations for all the world like a medieval soothsayer.

From these first qualities arise many other second, as that of colour, black, swarty, pale, ruddy , &c.

But Monsieur take care, of old England beware, / For her children are ready to rise at a ca'; / Your fopdoodle breeding and mountebank cleading, / John Bull he abhors you, flagaries an' a'.