In men, we various ruling passions find; In women, two almost divide the kind Those, only fixed, they first or last obey, The love of pleasure, and the love of sway.

As some to church repair, Not for the doctrine, but the music there. These equal syllables alone require, Though oft the ear the open vowels tire While expletives their feeble aid do join, And ten low words oft creep in one dull line.

Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around!

Let sinful bachelors their woes deplore; full well they merit all they feel, and more: unaw by precepts, human or divine, like birds and beasts, promiscuously they join.

Though triumphs were to generals only due, crowns were reserved to grace the soldiers too.

Why did I write? What sin to me unknown dipped me in ink, my parents , or my own?

Fools admire, but men of sense approve.