On The Four Aces Doom'd To Roll.

Who Shall Dispute What The Reviewers Say? Their Word's Sufficient; And To Ask A Reason, In Such A State As Theirs, Is Downright Treason.

Who, With Tame Cowardice Familiar Grown, Would Hear My Thoughts, But Fear To Speak Their Own.

To Copy Beauty Forfeits All Pretense To Fame; To Copy Faults Is Want Of Sense

The Virtuous To Those Mansions Go Where Pleasures Unembitter'd Flow, Where, Leading Up A Jocund Band, Vigor And Youth Dance Hand In Hand, Whilst Zephyr, With Harmonious Gales, Pipes Softest Music Through The Vales, And Spring And Flora, Gaily Crown'd, With Velvet Carpet Spread The Ground; With Livelier Blush Where Roses Bloom, And Every Shrub Expires Perfume.

England, A Happy Land We Know, Where Follies Naturally Grow, Where Without Culture They Arise, And Tow'r Above The Common Size.