Bold Knaves Thrive Without One Grain Of

Virgil, Above All Poets, Had A Stock Which I May Call Almost Inexhaustible, Of Figurative, Elegant, And Sounding Words.

Dreams Are But Interludes, Which Fancy Makes; When Monarch Reason Sleeps, This Mimic Wakes.

Fame Then Was Cheap, And The First Comer Sped; And They Have Kept It Since By Being Dead.

The Winds That Never Moderation Knew, Afraid To Blow Too Much, Too Faintly Blew; Or Out Of Breath With Joy, Could Not Enlarge Their Straighten'd Lungs Or Conscious Of Their Charge.

It Is Sufficient To Say, According To The Proverb, That Here Is God's Plenty.