[Gulliver was soon being read] "from the cabinet council to the nursery".
From kings to cobblers 'tis the same; Bad servants wound their masters' fame.
Youth's the season made for joys, Love is then our duty.
No author ever spar'd a brother.
When we risk no contradiction, It prompts the tongue to deal in fiction.
Is there no hope? the sick man said, The silent doctor shook his head, And took his leave with signs of sorrow, Despairing of his fee to-morrow.