This mournful truth is ev'rywhere confessed —

Of all the Griefs that harrass the Distrest, Sure the most bitter is a scornful Jest

A thousand horrid Prodigies foretold it. A feeble government, eluded Laws, A factious Populace, luxurious Nobles, And all the maladies of stinking states.

The reciprocal civility of authors is one of the most risible scenes in the farce of life.

By Numbers here from Shame or Censure free, All Crimes are safe, but hated Poverty. This, only this, the rigid Law persues, This, only this, provokes the snarling Muse.

Unmoved though Witlings sneer and Rivals rail, Studious to please, yet not ashamed to fail. He scorns the meek address, the suppliant strain. With merit needless, and without it vain. In Reason, Nature, Truth, he dares to trust: Ye Fops, …

Strange! that this general fraud from day to day Should fill the world with wretches undetected.