Who to patch up his fame, or fill his purse, Still pilfers wretched plans, and makes them worse; Like gypsies, lest the stolen brat be known, Defacing first, then claiming for his own.
Who often, but without success, have prayed for apt Alliteration's artful aid.
Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
To copy faults is want of sense.
On the four aces doom'd to roll.
Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.