The Race By Vigour, Not By Vaunts,

While I Live, No Rich Or Noble Knave Shall Walk The World In Credit To His Grave.

Dulness! Whose Good Old Cause I Yet Defend, With Whom My Muse Began, With Who Shall End.

Beauties In Vain Their Pretty Eyes May Roll; Charms Strike The Sight, But Merit Wins The Soul.

The Grave Unites; Where E'en The Great Find Rest, And Blended Lie Th' Oppressor And Th' Oppressed!

How Index-learning Turns No Student Pale, Yet Holds The Eel Of Science By The Tail!