Talk not of Custom — 'tis the Coward's plea,
Current with Fools, but passes not with me;
An old stale trick, which guilt hath often tried
By numbers to o'erpow'r the better side.
Why tell me then that from the birth of Rime,
No matter when, down to the present time,
As by th' original decree of Fate,
have protection sought amongst the Great,
Conscious of weakness, have applied to them
As Vines to Elms, and twining round their stem,
Flourish'd on high; to gain this wish'd support
E'en VIRGIL to MAECENAS paid his court.
As to the Custom 'tis a point agreed,
But 'twas a foolish diffidence, not need,
From which it rose; Had  but truly known
That Strength, which is most properly their own,
Without a  They might have stood,
And overtopp'd those Giants of the wood.