It Can't Be Nature, For It Is

Amongst The Sons Of Men How Few Are Known Who Dare Be Just To Merit Not Their Own.

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.

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.

Wherever Waves Can Roll, And Winds Can Blow.

Though By Whim, Envy, Or Resentment Led, They Damn Those Authors Whom They Never Read.