True Disputants Are Like True

Speed The Soft Intercourse From Soul To Soul, And Waft A Sigh From Indus To The Pole.

Whate'er The Passion, Knowledge, Fame, Or Pelf, Not One Will Change His Neighbor With Himself.

The Villain's Censure Is Extorted Praise.

Is There A Parson Much Bemused In Beer, A Maudlin Poetess, A Rhyming Peer, A Clerk Foredoom'd His Father's Soul To Cross, Who Pens A Stanza When He Should Engross?

Let Fortune Do Her Worst, Whatever She Makes Us Lose, So Long As She Never Makes Us Lose Our Honesty And Our Independence.