Some Judge Of Authors' Names,

The Bookful Blockhead, Ignorantly Read With Loads Of Learned Lumber In His Head.

Those Move Easiest Who Have Learn'd To Dance.

Authors, Like Coins, Grow Dear As They Grow Old.

That Each From Other Differs, First Confess; Next That He Varies From Himself No Less.

Count All Th' Advantage Prosperous Vice Attains, 'tis But What Virtue Flies From And Disdains: And Grant The Bad What Happiness They Would, One They Must Want--which Is, To Pass For Good.