Is Pride, The Never-failing Vice Of Fools.

You Purchase Pain With All That Joy Can Give And Die Of Nothing But A Rage To Live.

The Zeal Of Fools Offends At Any Time.

With Sharpen'd Sight Pale Antiquaries Pore, Th' Inscription Value, But The Rust Adore. This The Blue Varnish, That The Green Endears; The Sacred Rust Of Twice Ten Hundred Years.

Some Have At First For Wits, Then Poets Passed, Turned Critics Next, And Proved Plain Fools At Last.

The Man That Loves And Laughs Must Sure Do Well.