Whom Drink Made Wits, Though Nature Made

Constant Attention Wears The Active Mind, Blots Out Our Pow'rs, And Leaves A Blank Behind.

Little Do Such Men Know The Toil, The Pains, The Daily, Nightly Racking Of The Brains, To Range The Thoughts, The Matter To Digest, To Cull Fit Phrases, And Reject The Rest.

To Copy Faults Is Want Of Sense.

Nature Listening Stood, Whilst Shakespeare Play'd And Wonder'd At The Work Herself Had Made.

On The Four Aces Doom'd To Roll.