And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
Alas, regardless of their doom, the little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come nor care beyond today.
Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.
Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear, He gained from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend.