Be thou the first true merit to befriend, his praise is lost who stays till all commend.
But those who cannot write, and those who can, All rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble, to a man.
A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.
Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools.
The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, and wretches hang that jurymen may dine.
Music resembles poetry, in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a master hand alone can reach.