While I Live, No Rich

Some Have At First For Wits, Then Poets Passed, Turned Critics Next, And Proved Plain Fools At Last.

Tis Use Alone That Sanctifies Expense And Splendor Borrow All Her Rays From Sense.

The Scripture In Times Of Disputes Is Like An Open Town In Times Of War, Which Serves In Differently The Occasions Of Both Parties.

Oh! If To Dance All Night, And Dress All Day, Charm'd The Small-pox, Or Chas'd Old Age Away; . . . . To Patch, Nay Ogle, Might Become A Saint, Nor Could It Sure Be Such A Sin To Paint.

Envy Will Merit, As Its Shade, Pursue