Those Who Would Make Us Feel Must

Those Who Would Make Us Feel Must Feel Themselves.

Greatly His Foes He Dreads, But More His Friends; He Hurts Me Most Who Lavishly Commends.

Enough Of Self, That Darling Luscious Theme, O'er Which Philosophers In Raptures Dream; Of Which With Seeming Disregard They Write Then Prizing Most When Most They Seem To Slight.

Old Age, A Second Child, By Nature Curst With More And Greater Evils Than The First, Weak, Sickly, Full Of Pains: In Ev'ry Breath Railing At Life, And Yet Afraid Of Death.

England A Fortune-telling Host, As Num'rous As The Stars, Could Boast; Matrons, Who Toss The Cup, And See The Grounds Of Fate In Grounds Of Tea.