You Can Only Be Called A Hypocrite

Beasts Kill For Hunger, Men For Pay.

I Never, With Important Air, In Conversation Overbear. . . . . My Tongue Within My Lips I Rein; For Who Talks Much Must Talk In Vain.

So Comes A Reck'ning When The Banquet's O'er, The Dreadful Reckn'ning, And Men Smile No More.

Exercise Thy Lasting Youth Defends.

Envy's A Sharper Spur Than Pay: No Author Ever Spar'd A Brother; Wits Are Gamecocks To One Another.