Couplets on Wit

But our Great Turks in wit must reign

And ill can bear a Brother on the Throne.

Wit is like faith by such warm Fools

Who to be saved by one, must damn the rest.

Some who grow dull religious strait

And gain in morals what they lose in sence.

Wits starve as useless to a Common

While Fools have places purely for their Zea.

Now wits gain praise by copying other

As one Hog lives on what another sh—-.

Wou'd you your writings to some Palates

Purged all you verses from the sin of

For authors now are so conceited

They praise no works but what are like their own.