In Indolent Vacuity Of Thought.

The Darkest Day, If You Live Till Tomorrow, Will Have Passed Away.

Laugh At All You Trembled At Before.

Most Satirists Are Indeed A Public Scourge; Their Mildest Physic Is A Farrier's Purge; Their Acrid Temper Turns, As Soon As Stirr'd, The Milk Of Their Good Purpose All To Curd. Their Zeal Begotten, As Their Works Rehearse, By Lean Despair Upon An Empty Purse.

The Cross! There, And There Only (though The Deist Rave, And The Atheist, If Earth Bears So Base A Slave); There And There Only, Is The Power To Save.

Whoever Keeps An Open Ear For Tattlers Will Be Sure To Hear The Trumpet Of Contention.