How Much A Dunce That Has Been

Hast Thou Not Learnd What Thou Art Often Told, A Truth Still Sacred, And Believed Of Old, That No Success Attends On Spears And Swords Unblest, And That The Battle Is The Lords?

Fancy, Like The Finger Of A Clock, Runs The Great Circuit, And Is Still At Home.

Words Learn'd By Rote A Parrot May Rehearse, But Talking Is Not Always To Converse, Not More Distinct From Harmony Divine The Constant Creaking Of A Country Sign.

All Affectation; 'tis My Perfect Scorn; Object Of My Implacable Disgust.

His Wit Invites You By His Looks To Come, But When You Knock, It Never Is At Home.