All Hunt For Fame, But Most Mistake

Within The Brain's Most Secret Cells, A Certain Lord Chief Justice Dwells, Of Sov'reign Power, Whom One And All, With Common Voice We Reason Call.

Fashion--a Word Which Knaves And Fools May Use, Their Knavery And Folly To Excuse.

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

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

With That Malignant Envy Which Turns Pale, And Sickens, Even If A Friend Prevail.