But the worst Flatterer that wears a Tongue,
Is him whose Power aggravates the Wrong:
To whose grand Levee Crowds of Suppliants run,
And bow like  to the rising Sun:
Where starv'd Dependents linger out their Days,
Yet proud to share his Snuff-box and his Praise,
Grow stiff with Standing and with Staring thin,
To watch the Dimple on their Patron's Chin:
Who with a Nod can make the Wretch believe,
And smiles on Hunger which he'll ne'er relieve.