Fool beckons fool, and dunce awakens dunce.
Truth! why shall every wretch of letters Dare to speak truth against his betters! Let ragged virtue stand aloof, Nor mutter accents of reproof; Let ragged wit a mute become, When wealth and power would have her dumb.
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.
Satire, whilst envy and ill-humor sway The mind of man, must always make her way; Nor to a bosom, with discretion fraught, Is all her malice worth a single thought. The wise have not the will, nor fools the power, To stop her headstrong course; within the hour Left to herself, she dies; opposing strife Gives her fresh vigor, and prolongs her life.
The oak, when living, monarch of the wood; The English oak, which, dead, commands the flood.
Constant attention wears the active mind, Blots out our pow'rs, and leaves a blank behind.
Drawn by conceit from reason's plan How vain is that poor creature man; How pleas'd in ev'ry paltry elf To grate about that thing himself.
Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
If honor calls, where'er she points the way The sons of honor follow, and obey.
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.
Even in a hero's heart Discretion is the better part.
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