Who, With Tame Cowardice Familiar Grown, Would

A Joke's A Very Serious Thing.

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.

A Servile Race Who, In Mere Want Of Fault, All Merit Place; Who Blind Obedience Pay To Ancient Schools, Bigots To Greece, And Slaves To Musty Rules.

The Laws I Love; The Lawyers I Suspect.

When Fiction Rises Pleasing To The Eye, Men Will Believe, Because They Love The Lie; But Truth Herself, If Clouded With A Frown, Must Have Some Solemn Proof To Pass Her Down.