Classic Poem

  A. Yon fellow is a fool, sir: he indeed
Doth not profess so much; but 'tis his trade,—
His calling, to be the butt of other men.
He thrives by 't. You may kick him:—but, to-morrow,
Be sure he 'll borrow money! If you cast
A jibe upon him that would shame a dog,
He'll ask what time you dine. A laugh to him
Is worth a supper; and a blow—'tis wealth!
To look at these things philosophically——
  B. At present were misplaced:—Dost mean so much?
  A. Pardon me, sir. The air of folly best
Doth nourish in the cynic keenest thoughts:
Dwells he 'midst men of sense his spirit dies,
Having no food for his fierce scorn to live on.