A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year.

And fools who came to scoff remain'd to pray.

Even children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile.

Honour sinks where commerce long prevails.

And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks if this be joy.

The nakedness of the indigent world may be clothed from the trimmings of the vain.

Titles and mottoes to books are like escutcheons and dignities in the hands of a king. The wise sometimes condescend to accept of them; but none but a fool would imagine them of any real importance. We ought to depend upon intrinsic merit, and not the slender helps of the title.