Fool Beckons Fool, And Dunce Awakens Dunce.

Those Who Raise Envy Will Easily Incur Censure.

On The Four Aces Doom'd To Roll.

Weak Is That Throne, And In Itself Unsound, Which Takes Not Solid Virtue For Its Ground.

Who To Patch Up His Fame, Or Fill His Purse, Still Pilfers Wretched Plans, And Makes Them Worse; Like Gypsies, Lest The Stolen Brat Be Known, Defacing First, Then Claiming For His Own.

Be England What She Will, With All Her Faults She Is My Country Still.