Because Egnatius' teeth are nicely white;
To grin, and shew them, is his sole delight.
If haply at some trial he appear,
Where eloquence commands the gushing tear;
He grins——If, at the pile, her duteous son
The childless mother weeps, for ever gone;
He grins——In short, whate'er the time, or place,
Do as he may, the grin still marks his face:
'Tis his disease; and, speaking as I feel,
We cannot call it decent, or genteel.
Then, good Egnatius, list to what I sing:
Didst thou from Roman, or from Sabine spring,
From Tiburine, or Umbrian highly fed;
Or with Etrurians greasy wert thou bred;
Wert thou descended of Lanuvian race,
Remark'd alike for teeth, and swarthy face;
Or—that my native land may mention claim—
Wert thou like me of Transpadanian name;
Wert thou a son of any region, where
Teeth are kept clean with water that is fair;
E'en then that ceaseless ill-tim'd grin forego:
A silly laugh's the silliest thing I know:
But, Celtiberian! in that country born,
Where what you make at night you ev'ry morn
Rub on your teeth, and scarlet gums; for you
To smirk and smile, but proves this scandal true:
The more your teeth are polish'd white and fine,
The more you've only swill'd of filthy brine.