Our Vanity we more betray,
In asking what the World will say,
Than if, in trivial Things like these,
We wait on the Event with ease;
Nor make long  to show
What Men are not concern'd to know:
For still untouch'd how we succeed,
'Tis for themselves, not us, they
Whilst that proceeding to requite,
We own (who in the Muse delight)
'Tis for our Selves, not them, we
Betray'd by Solitude to try
Amusements, which the Prosp'rous fly;
And only to the Press repair,
To six our scatter'd Papers there;
Tho' whilst our Labours are preserv'd,
The Printers may, indeed, be starv'd.