The Laws I Love; The Lawyers I

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.

The Scots Are Poor, Cries Surly English Pride; True Is The Charge, Nor By Themselves Denied. Are They Not Then In Strictest Reason Clear, Who Wisely Come To Mend Their Fortunes Here?

Men The Most Infamous Are Fond Of Fame, And Those Who Fear Not Guilt Yet Start At Shame.

The Stage I Chose--a Subject Fair And Free-- 'tis Yours--'tis Mine--'tis Public Property. All Common Exhibitions Open Lie, For Praise Or Censure, To The Common Eye. Hence Are A Thousand Hackney Writers Fed; Hence Monthly Critics Earn Their Daily Bread. This Is A General Tax Which All Must Pay, From Those Who Scribble, Down To Those Who Play.

Little Do Such Men Know The Toil, The Pains, The Daily, Nightly Racking Of The Brains, To Range The Thoughts, The Matter To Digest, To Cull Fit Phrases, And Reject The Rest.