What Is Fame? A Fancied Life In

Cursed Be The Verse, How Well So E'er It Flow, That Tends To Make One Worthy Man My Foe.

The Search Of Our Future Being Is But A Needless, Anxious, And Haste To Be Knowing, Sooner Than We Can, What, Without All This Solicitude, We Shall Know A Little Later.

What So Pure, Which Envious Tongues Will Spare? Some Wicked Wits Have Libell'd All The Fair, With Matchless Impudence They Style A Wife, The Dear-bought Curse, And Lawful Plague Of Life; A Bosom Serpent, A Domestic Evil, A Night Invasion, And A Mid-day Devil; Let Not The Wise These Sland'rous Words Regard, But Curse The Bones Of Ev'ry Living Bard.

One Science Only Will One Genius Fit; So Vast Is Art, So Narrow Human Wit.

Be Thou The First True Merit To Befriend, His Praise Is Lost Who Stays Till All Commend.