Wit, Who Never Once Forgave A Brother,

Most Of Those Evils We Poor Mortals Know From Doctors And Imagination Flow.

Who Shall Dispute What The Reviewers Say? Their Word's Sufficient; And To Ask A Reason, In Such A State As Theirs, Is Downright Treason.

All Hunt For Fame, But Most Mistake The Way.

Gipsies, Who Every Ill Can Cure, Except The Ill Of Being Poor Who Charms 'gainst Love And Agues Sell, Who Can In Hen-roost Set A Spell, Prepar'd By Arts, To Them Best Known To Catch All Feet Except Their Own, Who, As To Fortune, Can Unlock It, As Easily As Pick A Pocket.

And Reputation Bleeds In Ev'ry Word.