O! what a blockhead is Don Andres,
⁠So spending his gold without measure,
Who ruins, perhaps, to be a Marquess,
⁠His house by the waste of his treasure!
A cross on his breast to wear so prim,
Much be the good it will do to him!

Louis is passing the whole long night,
⁠In the dance, what a fancy to take!
So foolish too, when he easier might
⁠On his warm soft bed his comfort make;
To stretch as he pleased each weary limb:
Much be the good it will do to him!

O, how short-sighted is Avarice!
⁠Cenon exposes himself to shame,
For the few pounds more he gains amiss,
⁠To lose his office and his good name;
For a paltry bribe his fame to dim,
Much be the good it will do to him.

And Clara! what of thee shall I say?
⁠When slowly along I see thee go,
As if quite lame on the public way,