When Satire Flies Abroad On Falsehood's Wing,

The Oak, When Living, Monarch Of The Wood; The English Oak, Which, Dead, Commands The Flood.

Satire, Whilst Envy And Ill-humor Sway The Mind Of Man, Must Always Make Her Way; Nor To A Bosom, With Discretion Fraught, Is All Her Malice Worth A Single Thought. The Wise Have Not The Will, Nor Fools The Power, To Stop Her Headstrong Course; Within The Hour Left To Herself, She Dies; Opposing Strife Gives Her Fresh Vigor, And Prolongs Her Life.

England, A Happy Land We Know, Where Follies Naturally Grow, Where Without Culture They Arise, And Tow'r Above The Common Size.

Quick-circulating Slanders Mirth Afford; And Reputation Bleeds In Every Word.

Even In A Hero's Heart Discretion Is The Better Part.