And Die Of Nothing But A Rage

What Woeful Stuff This Madrigal Would Be, In Some Starved Hackney Sonneteer, Or Me! But Let A Lord Once Own The Happy Lines, How The Wit Brightens! How The Style Refines!

To Swear Is Neither Brave, Polite, Nor Wise.

Is Pride, The Never-failing Vice Of Fools.

If A Man's Character Is To Be Abused There's Nobody Like A Relative To Do The Business.

Satire Or Sense, Alas! Can Sporus Feel? Who Breaks A Butterfly Upon A Wheel?