John Wolcot

People may have too much of a good thing: Full as an egg of wisdom thus I sing.

A fellow in a market town, Most musical, cried razors up and down.

Care to our coffin adds a nail, no doubt, And every grin so merry draws one out.

No, let the monarch’s bags and others hold The flattering, mighty, nay, al-mighty gold.

What rage for fame attends both great and small! Better be damned than mentioned not at all.