You think this cruel? take it for a rule,
No creature smarts so little as a Fool.
Let Peals of Laughter,  round thee break,
Thou unconcern'd canst hear the mighty Crack.
Pit, Box and Gall'ry in convulsions hurl'd,
Thou stand'st unshook amidst a bursting World.
Who shames a Scribler? break one cobweb thro',
He spins the slight, self-pleasing thread anew;
Destroy his Fib, or Sophistry; in vain,
The Creature's at his dirty work again;
Thron'd in the Centre of his thin designs;
Proud of a vast Extent of flimzy lines.
Whom have I hurt? has Poet yet, or Peer,
Lost the arch'd eye-brow, or  sneer?
And has not  still his Lord, and Whore?
His Butchers  his Free-masons
Does not one Table  still admit?
Still to one Bishop  seem a Wit?
Still  — "Hold! nay see you, you'll offend:
"No Names — be calm — learn Prudence of a Friend:
"I too could write, and I am twice as tall,
"But Foes like these! — One Flatt'rer's worse than all;
Of all mad Creatures, if the Learn'd are right,
It is the Slaver kills, and not the Bite.
A Fool quite angry is quite innocent;
Trust me, 'tis ten times worse when they