Is there a parson much bemused in beer, a maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer, a clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, who pens a stanza when he should engross?

Most authors steal their works, or buy.

The grave unites; where e'en the great find rest, And blended lie th' oppressor and th' oppressed!

Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.

Content if hence th' unlearn'd their wants may view, The learn'd reflect on what before they knew.

When much dispute has past, we find our tenets just the same as last.

Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn, Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn.